


The Lost Ones

by ThetaWolfe



Series: The Lost and Forgotten [1]
Category: Farscape, Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars (2004)
Genre: Ancients, Baby raising in space, Death, F/M, John losing his mind, Leviathans, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Space Pirates, Wormholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3076712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaWolfe/pseuds/ThetaWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moya gives birth to another son, but circumstances beyond their control force them to separate. Alone but for the baby Leviathan and 1812, John Crichton sets off on a journey to find Moya and his family, forcing him to go places he never wanted to be and turning him into something he never wanted to become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Batten Down the Hatches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day negative five:  
> Today is a good day...sorta. Moya went into labor. Aeryn's sleeping with Chiana, but not like that. Rygel is still frelling useless at everything, but he still tries to help so there is that. I haven't slept in days, Aeryn worries, but the blue keeps leaking in. How do I make it stop?

_“How can I get anything done with so much extra time on my hands?”_

_-Samuel L. Jackson_

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day -5

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

Space is an ambiguous word that falls short of describing its actual purpose or existence.  Space just is, and sometimes it is not.  Contradictory that it may be, it is both everything and nothing.  Beautiful, some would describe it.  A darkness that stretches to every corner, every nook and cranny, everywhere and everywhen of everything.  Little tiny sparkling lights of fierce heat and energy dotting the shadows like billions upon billions of twinkling diamonds.

Gasses collided and condensed to create dust.  Dust collided and condensed to create rocks.  Rocks collided and condensed to create planets.  Not long after came life.

Space was vibrant, teaming with hope and possibilities.  Tiny little creatures in a vast abyss, blind to all but themselves, struggling to survive.  But somehow they found their way.  Many perished: to young, to weak, to unlucky.  Some stretched beyond themselves and left their tiny planet.  Few overreached and reigned destruction down upon others.  One ascended beyond space and time to become God/Savior/Destroyer.

God/Savior/Destroyer was tiny once.  So small and insignificant it dreamed of something greater then itself but lacked the ability (evolution, knowledge, life, strength, skill) to become anything else.  And then one day it all changed.  Bad luck with worse timing opened the universe to it, and the tiny creature stumbled through space blind, deaf, and dumb.  One of the few that overreached saw the pathetic creature and took pity.  The few gave it ability (evolution, knowledge, life, strength, skill) and the tiny thing became everything else.

It was not an easy journey and the length of time compared to the tiny insignificant creature’s life would be considered long.  To the rest of existence though, it was such a short time that it ascended from something so inconsequential to a thing of vast importance.

It all started with a pregnant Leviathan, a promise not kept, and a hole in the universe.

0~Page_Break~0

Moya drifted alone in the dead of space.  Her only companions within her hull as she lazily orbited the sun with no planets.  It was a tiny thing, as stars go; bright blue and warm as the heat stroked along her underbelly.  A solar flare danced green across the surface, the light shimmering off of Moya’s hull creating a feeling of calm in its simplistic beauty.

It had been a long time since the Leviathan had felt this kind of peace.  Even for one as long lived as she, the time seemed great.  But with the War over with the Peacekeepers and Scarrans she could finally enjoy it.  No more being hunted, no more desperate Starbursts pausing only long enough to recharge, no more prisoners, no more control collars.  It was just her and her crew in the vastness of space, alone and at peace…finally.

Moya could go any and everywhere they wanted, through Uncharted Territories, Tormented Space, even the Charted Territories without fear.  They could shop on commercial planets for supplies without ending up running for their lives and dock on space stations without checking to make sure news feeds did not proceed them.  A much needed rest after cycles of threats, explosions, hostile takeovers, political maneuvering, and death.  No one was looking for them, not anymore, and she and Pilot could not be happier.

The Leviathan’s engines hummed softly as she orbited around the solar mass.  Most of her crew was sound asleep during her night sequence and at peace, so she danced undisturbed among the stars.  Her great mass looped and twirled in the weightlessness of space as her and Pilot thought upon their crew.  They were a good bunch and she loved them dearly.  Their loyalty was tested and unwavering, their hearts kind, and their souls finally at peace.

Rygel slept deeply, all stomachs full and not a care in the universe.  Noranti was napping in the kitchen, a pot simmering over an open fire as opposed to the stove that she still refused to use.  The kind elderly woman was helping to make something that would clean Moya’s air systems faster then what the DRD’s had been able to attend to since they were needed elsewhere.  Chiana was sleeping in her chamber with the baby half breed D’Argo, though neither slept as deeply as the Hynerian.

A drone informed her of Aeryn making her way slowly down the halls.  Most likely to retrieve her husband.  Moya could pinpoint Commander John Crichton’s location even without aid.  He had been in the same spot for over three weekens, leaving only to eat or catch a quick nap.  Even so, he was never away for more than a few arns.

John stood alone in Command, watching the information flow swiftly across the holographic screen projecting in front of him.  His hair stood in every direction and his body was hunched over in fatigue.  Blue eyes took in every translucent word, symbol, number, and equation carefully as if his life depended upon it.  But it was not only his life, no…it was also the life of the crew and ship that depended on it.  One mistake was all it took, one little blip that could be mistaken for debris could spell disaster for everyone.

Pain pushed at the front of his mind, head pounding and eyes aching as he closed them briefly in reprieve.  It only made it worse as images flashed across the back of his eyelids.  Memories, reminders that refused to stay locked away.  But there was something else, something he refused to acknowledge.  Terrified that if he thought upon it, it would become real, become substantial.

  _If I ignore it, it will go away._

He scrubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes, pressing until his vision whited out and his head thumped with the beat of his heart and not the pulsing of the universe.  The reprieve lasted microts.  Equations in alien symbols; blue letters and numbers upon the surface, around the corner, on the floor.  The angle of the room, the slope of the glass, the pressure of the air.  It all floated, just outside his peripheral vision…teasing him.  He could see it, but he could not comprehend.  Blue letters, blue numbers, blue symbols, blue wormholes, and red blood.  The faces of the dead and condemned.  Red hands, red halls, red ground.  But D’Argo’s blood ran black and oozed poison.

The dead haunted his dreams and snuck upon his thoughts during his waking moments.  They hounded at his mind like a pack of dogs.  Barking and baying, they pulled his attention sideways and backwards; making it impossible for him to see straight ahead, to see forwards.  But that was what he had Aeryn for.  She stroked and soothed, hummed and sighed and calmed.  Some days it helped to settle the pack.

 _Curl up by the fire pups, let me tell you a story_.

Some days it did not help at all.

Crichton raised a hand, swiping it across the air as if to banish the mental images before he ran it tiredly across his face.  He needed to shave soon, the stubble catching his fingertips and tingling his nerve endings as his lips pulled into a frown.  Did he not just shave…no that was yesterday.  Or perhaps the solar day before.  It was hard to remember, Aeryn usually did that for him…the remembering.

Weary eyes turned to the data, forcefully pulling his mind back into the now.  It was getting harder to do that, he noticed.  But it was more of a side thought, a moment of ‘hey, look at that…huh’ and then it was gone.  It was the blue that cast his mind into every which way.  The numbers and symbols…the knowhow and whereto of wormholes.

John had thought that after two cycles of peace, after marrying the woman of his dreams and starting a family, after the knowledge had left…it would stay away.  Is that not what he had been promised by the Ancient?  Once, just once as a weapon and no more.  Well, if this was the no more, John wanted a refund.  Someone did not hold up their end of the bargain.  Or had there ever been a deal?  He could not remember what exactly was said. 

_Perhaps I had been meant to die…perhaps I should have._

The implanted knowledge returned gradually.  It started with the screams: it always started with the screaming.  And then faces started to appear attached to the screams and the blood and the pain.  Finally the symbols started to appear.  The complex, elegant, beautiful, terrible equations that one day just popped into his dreams.  John first thought that it was just a residual memory from the wormhole equations; he thought it would just go away, but it didn’t.

_It doesn’t work that way, Johnny.  You should know better._

The first time he had seen them in the waking world, Crichton was unsure if he was still dreaming.  The razor scraped past his jaw and down his neck, removing the cream and stubble before he rinsed his cheeks.  The water was cold, nearly burning his face as he splashed it on his skin.  Moya could not be bothered to heat the water for such a trivial use, not while most of her energy was being used for the baby. 

The towel he had grabbed was fluffy, and no matter what he told Aeryn, it was not pink…just a faded off-red.  Patting his face dry, he pulled the cloth away and dried his hands as he inspected himself in the mirror and that was when he saw it.  A blue line followed the contour of his throat, pulsing with his heartbeat and shimmering in the mirror.  He leaned closer to inspect it and that was when it changed.  It was not a line, but a series of numbers that graphed his jugular.

John had startled, nearly tripping over 1812 who beeped at him in confusion as he threw himself backwards into the wall.  Blue eyes gazed upon the mirror in horror, but there was nothing in its reflection but his terrified face.  Heart pounding and breath heaving, he shushed 1812 as he tentatively approached the mirror.  His hand reached out, fingertips brushing metal as he clasped the sink and pulled himself before his reflection.  There was nothing there but his own face staring back at his.  John sighed in relief, chuckling in embarrassment as his blue eyes swept from corner to corner of the reflective surface – too blue, the circumference in his iris, the hole of his pupil, the numbers shifting as the black contracted.

_No!_

He broke the mirror, blood dripping down his clenched fingers as the numbers scattered like the shattered pieces of the glass, red smeared across his reflection.  John fled from the bathroom and told no one of what he saw, but they all knew.  They could see it as his eyes tracked things only he could perceive.  And then the day came in the mess hall when he stopped mid conversation with Rygel, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end as if static electricity permeated the air.  John gazed around slowly as if he could not comprehend what he was seeing before he rushed from the room.  Microts later Pilot informed them that a wormhole had opened nearby.  They Starburst from the quadrant and never returned.

After that Crichton began to hole himself up in the oddest of places.  The ventilation shaft on tier two was his favorite.  The constant headache never left, each solar day worse than the last as the numbers returned with a vengeance.  He felt as if his mind was being ripped apart and reformed; the equations were raping his brain as it scoured through his synapses and lodged themselves inside of his networks. 

In less than three monens nearly all of the wormhole knowledge had returned, clustering and making itself at home in his mind.  Even now as he stood in front of the console they returned, edging in around his peripheral and dancing just out of view.  Crichton dug his palm into the sharp side of the metal, cutting through his delicate flesh as pain made the blue finally leave.  It was not the best solution, and sometimes it did not always work, but pain made the equations retreat long enough for John to be in the here and now.

He turned his attention back to the screen, the data an off green - _not blue_ \- that showed no signs of nearby ships of planets.  They were floating alone in the emptiness of space, but even still the Commander could not rest easy.  Things never just went well with them, and John was terrified that this would be another of those times.  So he remained at the console, eyes glued to the screen, body still as a statue, the only movement coming from the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in the recycled air.

That was how his wife found him several arns later.  Aeryn Sun, former Peacekeeper Officer, entered the room slowly while being extra careful to make enough noise to catch John’s attention.  She had learned in the past cycles to never sneak up on him as the consequences were usually disastrous.  Sometimes he lashed out and caught her, the bruises on her arm were still tender from the last time she unintentionally startled him.  The majority of the time though he either ended up making a fool out of himself or yelling obscenities.  The cycles that they spent running for their lives, the time John spent being tortured, had made him jumpy and unpredictable.  One could say even paranoid.

“John,” Aeryn’s voice was soft and patient as if she were talking to a young child.  The gentle clicks and sharp consonants absent as she spoke to him in English.  He usually responded to that better than Sebacean when he was lost in his own head.  “Come back to bed.”

Crichton was starting to worry her, worry all of them.  John was never a heavy sleeper and often had nightmares.  Some nights she would awaken to find him sitting next to her and staring at the wall with an absent minded focus she had not seen since Harvey had been permanently killed.  But as the cycles past, it had gotten worse.  Now she would awake and he would no longer be there.  Just like she had done countless times before, Aeryn left their son with Chiana and went to find her absent husband.

It used to take her arns of searching to find him.  Sometimes he would be in the Observatory, sometimes the mess hall, occasionally the kitchen.  Usually though, he was somewhere obscure, squirreled away in a duct or vent in one tier or the other.  One time she had even found him sleeping under Pilot’s Neural Nexus beneath the giant creature.  Now though, she knew exactly where to find him: in Command.

Ever since Moya had announced her new pregnancy, John could always be found in Command when he wandered off.  He said he was just checking data.  Paranoid, Rygel called him.  But they were all worried, just like him.  Aeryn even gave into the temptation once or twice herself to go over the data on the child and nearby planetary charts, star systems, and controlled quadrants when she herself had sleepless nights.  No one wanted to make the same mistakes that had been made with Talyn. 

It was a happy day when Pilot and Moya announced her pregnancy to the crew.  Finding out by word was certainly better than the Leviathan trying to kill them.  There was celebrating all around and Pilot received more than one congratulatory kiss and Rygel and Chiana drank way more then was healthy while John cheered from the sidelines and Aeryn threatened bodily harm if the made a mess inside the Den.

1812 beeped at Crichton from its perch on the War Table, finally snapping the human out of his daze.  Blinking slowly, John drew his attention to the tiny drone before waving antennae’s had him turning to find Officer Sun standing at the entrance to the room.  Her arms were crossed, her hair mussed, and a deep scowl was set into her face, but Crichton smiled at her anyway.  Aeryn’s displeasure deepened as she crossed further into the room, but Crichton seemed not to notice.

“Yeah, babe?” His throat sounded hoarse, even to himself.

“I awoke, and guess what?” She began, switching to the much more consonant heavy language of her people.  It was easier to sound irritated in Sebacean with all the clicking.  “You were not there,” Aeryn raised her brow as if to say: explain yourself.

John sighed, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck before he turned back to the console.  “I know, I’m sorry…I’ll be there in a micron, okay?”

There was a long pause as Aeryn studied his back.  His muscles were tense, shoulders bunched up and tight as he leaned upon the metal stand.  “Alright,” she conceded sadly.  They both knew that he would not be returning to their bed that night, just as he had not last night, nor the hundreds before.  But she would let him live with this lie, it was a comforting one.

Aeryn could not begrudge him, nor dare she try.  They were all worried for Moya and her baby.  The War was long over and even though common knowledge dictated that they were no longer being hunted, six cycles of paranoia and fear had been ingrained into their instincts like a sixth sense.

Sighing softly, she turned to leave.  Chiana was deep asleep with her son and Aeryn decided that she would join them.  It would not be the first time the three of them had shared a room, nor a bed.  It was quite common these past few monens and it was just as likely to find Aeryn in her own bed as it was to find her in Chiana’s.  If Crichton were another man he would almost be jealous, but he understood.  There had been nights in the beginning where he just needed to be with somebody, to have someone to hold in the night, to have someone hold him. 

When he first came to this side of the universe that person had been Zhaan.  There was nothing sexual about their sleeping together, even though the Delvian slept in the nude and on occasion she had convinced him to do the same.  It was just a pressing of bodies, skin to skin contact and no more.  Several times he had even done the same with Chiana, though definitely not in the nude.  And when Aeryn had left on Talyn with Crais and John’s twin, Crichton had found himself in D’Argo’s room.  It was never talked about but was accepted as a mutual act of comfort.  There had even been the occasion when one of the crew sought him out.           

The former Peacekeeper nearly made it to the door before Moya’s whole body convulsed.  The floor and walls shook and Aeryn found herself falling heavily onto her knees, hands splayed upon the floor as Crichton gripped the console for balance.  They rode out the convulsions, 1812 engaging its stabilizing gravity locking system to stay on the table.

The tremors lasted for several microns, longer than the last by nearly half.  It was a common occurrence the closer that it came time for the birthing.  This pregnancy was both similar and different then the last one.  Just the fact that the crew had been informed and there had been no hostility on Moya’s part was a huge step.  And though the pregnancy was lasting a lot longer than the previous, it was a lot less stressful then the last. 

It was a boy, like Talyn, and like his brother he would be born a half breed, part Leviathan and part Peacekeeper Warship.  One major difference though was that he was to be big, bigger than Talyn was at birth, and eventually bigger than Moya.  It was common among Leviathans to birth bigger children every time. 

Moya would give birth to no more than three children throughout her life.  After the next one, her reproductive organs would become obsolete.  Once her last child was grown and independent, she would ascend to the title of Matriarch and her hull would dim to a bronze instead of a gold.  It was a huge honor among her kind and a day she looked forward to, though it saddened her that not all of her crew would be alive to see it as they did not live as long as she.

When the crew found out about her pregnancy and after the congratulatory party, and the follow-up party to that party, they sat down to talk.  Talyn, as the first half breed, had frankly been a disaster.  His birthing was stressful and nearly killed Moya.  He was exposed to too many people of conflicting opinions, and Craise polluted his mind.  Talyn was too powerful and too stubborn and too aggressive.  These were things that could not be allowed to happen again.

After much discussion it was brought to light that Moya’s pregnancy had been difficult due to the stress she had endured while on the run.  To counter this, the crew forbade her from Starburst when they reached roughly the halfway mark in her pregnancy.  She had been drifting in space, going nowhere that could cause them any problems.  If any of the crew needed supplies, they left in a shuttle with at least a weeken worth of supplies.  Chiana and Rygel usually handled the supply runs, always bringing back more resources then they needed or could afford.  Crichton pretended not to notice and Aeryn gave up long ago trying to discourage the kleptomania.

“Looks like the baby will be coming any solar day now,” John commented as he helped Aeryn up from the floor.  His hand was slick with sweat and she grabbed it suddenly as he tried to pull away, confirming that he was also indeed bleeding.

“When did this happen?” She asked softly, wrapping it with a cloth that 1812 presented her.

“Just now,” he replied and she gave him a disbelieving look.  It was obvious he was lying as the cut had already almost coagulated.  But Aeryn chose not to comment.  “Look, Aer-” he got no further as the both fell to heap on the floor, the wind getting knocked out of him in a whoosh as his wife landed upon his chest.

Aeryn and John looked at each other for several seconds in stunned silence until the Sebacean woman broke it.  “Wake the crew?”

“Yeah,” Crichton agreed.  “We should probably do that.  Pilot!?” He yelled as Aeryn forced herself to her feet, running down the hall as the whole ship trembled.

“Yes Commander?” Pilot’s face appeared on the clam shell like screen.  He seemed calm, but his voice betrayed him.  He knew as well as John did.  The baby was coming and it was coming now.

“Is it time?” John asked redundantly.

“Yes.” Anxiety, fear, pride, excitement, nervousness.  “It is time.”

The human took a deep breath, calming himself as he crawled over to the controls and used the console as support to stand.  Pressing several buttons, he activated the ship’s intercommunications unit.  “Good morning Moya and crew.  This is your Captain speaking so buckle up and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.  Pilot has just informed me that the baby is coming.  This is not a false alarm or a drill.  Everybody to their stations immediately.”

His voice was steady and calm and his face emotionless.  Nobody saw the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of the console with all of his strength.  Moya was going to give birth, and her son would be healthy and happy and safe.  Memories of Talyn flooded his mind and he vowed to himself, to Moya and Pilot that it would not happen again.

0~Page_Break~0

Chiana was dreaming, she had to be.  It could not be real, no matter how she wished it.  But that did not stop her from enjoying it, wishing it real with all her heart.  She was with Ka D’Argo and that was how she knew.  It could not be real because D’Argo -her D’Argo- the love of her life was dead and had been for some time.

The eyes that she borrowed (stole, procured, took) were gone.  The ones she was born with (black) gazed upon the commerce planet with joy as two children ran ahead.  They were small for Luxans, barely up to her knees, but their skin was grey.  Grey like hers.  Chiana knew without knowing that those two, the boy and girl, were her children, hers and D’Argo’s.  And that was what broke her the most, the dream…the vision of what could have been but now could never be.

She sobbed in her sleep, pale tears running down the top of her nose and out the corner of her eye to be soaked in the pillow beneath her.  The bundle in her arms shifted, bringing her back to the waking world.  She held the Sebacean-Human child in her arms, cradling him as she gazed upon his calm and peaceful face.  It brought a smile to her lips and lifted the pain in her heart for just a moment.  He looked so much like his father and yet just like his mom at the same time.  More tears escaped her eyes as she remembered the dream and wished with all her heart that it could have been.

Shifting the two-cycle old child into a more comfortable position, the Nebari got up to use the bathroom when she fell off the bed as Moya convulsed.  Chiana waited it out and only made it to the threshold of the lavatory before the tremors started back up and Crichton’s voice came over the speakers.

She had D’Argo in his crib and was down the hall before the Human had even finished speaking.  Sleep was still heavy around her snake like eyes and she had completely forgotten to dress.  Clad in only a shirt and underwear, she passed Rygel flying down the hall as she made her way to the birthing chamber.  The going was tough as she spent the majority of the trip supporting herself on the wall.  It was all she could do to keep her feet on the floor and the rest of her off of it.

She made it to the entrance of the birthing chamber, a grate that sat in the wall, big enough even a Luxan to climb through.  Aeryn had beat her there and was already tugging on her EVA suit.  Chiana pulled hers on quickly, fingers sliding over the material as Aeryn checked to make sure she was sealed properly.  Only once both of them were completely set did they part, Chiana for the grate and Aeryn for the airlock. 

They had the hard jobs.  Chiana was to keep the baby calm while the Sebacean was to help ease open the birthing case if needed.  Rygel was in the Den with Noranti to keep Pilot calm -not that he needed it but it got them out of the way- and John was in Command monitoring the systems.

Pulling herself through the vent, Chiana felt the effects of zero gravity as she entered the chamber.  Clambering for a moment, she tied off her connection to an access handle near the grate before she got her first look at the baby.  “Oh frell,” she whispered quietly, forgetting that all comms were open.

“Repeat Chiana, what did you say?” Crichton’s voice rang through the room as she stood in shock.

“Nothing,” Chiana replied hastily, releasing from the wall and floating in the room.  “I didn’t say anything.  Did I say something? No, of course I didn’t.”

“Hey, Pip!” John broke through her ramblings.  “Do we have a problem?”

“Well…I would not-well you know,” she started, unsure as she eased herself slowly around the baby.  There simply was no other way to put it.  “Crichton? We have a problem.”

“Do you need me down in birthing?” He asked after Chiana failed to continue.

“Y-yeah, tha-that would be good…you need to see this.”

It took several microns before Crichton was able to make his way to birthing.  He had to wait for Rygel to make his way back up from the Den so he could take over the readings, then he had to jog nearly a half mile and down seven tiers to get there.  Three more suits were stationed outside of the birthing chamber with two more by the air lock.  There was no need for so many, but Crichton was a firm believer in the ‘I’d rather have and not need then need and not have’.

Climbing through the shaft, he tied his line next to Chiana’s and caught her arm as she floated back over.  It was then that he got his first look.  “Oh frell me.”

“What in the yotz is going on down there?” Rygel snapped over the speakers just as Aeryn announced that she was in position.

“Uh,” Crichton started, unsure of how to continue.  “We may or may not have a problem.”

“John,” Aeryn cut in before Rygel could.  “Do we, or do we _not_ , have a problem?”

“I say yes,” Chiana snapped as Crichton began to do a perimeter around the baby.  “Yes, definitely yes.”

“No,” Crichton replied as he drifted above the baby Leviathan.  “This isn’t a problem.”

“No, Crichton,” Chiana cut him off.  “This,” she gestured to the child.  “This right here is a huge problem.”

“Alright!” Aeryn barked before they could start bickering.  “Just tell me what you see.”

“He’s big,” Crichton replied as he reached the other side.

“Huge,” Chiana added.

“Well, bigger than Talyn certainly.”

“Nope, still going with huge.”

Crichton sighed.  “And he’s got a few guns.”

“You call that a few?”

“Chi-”

“No, that right there is a frelling arsenal.”

“Alright, I concede the guns-”

“Hello, can you say plasma cannon?!”

“Okay,” Crichton agreed, “kid’s got a cannon-”

“Is that a grappling hook?”

“You are so not helping!” John snapped.

“And did I say huge, because he is, and I really do mean this: _huge_!”

“So,” Aeryn cut in after a moment of silence and John and Chiana glared at each other.  “Problem then?”

“We can deal with this,” John emphasized sternly.

“Deal?” Chiana cut in.  “How do we even get him out? Can he even fit?”

“We _will_ deal!” He shouted.  “Pilot?” John paused long enough to confirm that Pilot was listening.  “We’ll have to help Moya with the doors, tell her to start opening them.  Chiana, go outside and help Aeryn.  Rygel, keep an eye on the scanner.”

“And what exactly are you going to do?” Chiana questioned tartly.

“ _I’m_ going to keep the baby calm and make sure he doesn’t try to blow a hole in Moya,” John replied just as heated.

“Ha!” Chiana shouted, pointing at him as she unhooked her line and made her way back to the grate.  “So you agree with me about the arsenal.  Told you!”

“Pip, I swear to god,” but she was already gone and Crichton was left alone with the infant.  “Well, this is just perfect.”

When Pilot had explained to the crew about the inner workings of Leviathan breeding somehow this bit of information did not seem to register with any of them.  They logically knew that Moya’s second son would be bigger than her first, but they had all seemed to fail to realize what that truly meant.  The lighting inside the birthing chamber was minimal and washed out in yellow, but even he could tell that Moya’s boy was huge, nearly twice the length Talyn was upon birth.

“Okay, Pilot,” John began after a moment as he drifted down until he could lay his hands upon the top of the baby.  “Tell Moya to push.”

0~Page_Break~0

It took just over seven arns for the baby to be born.  After the first arn was passed in silence Pilot informed the crew of the baby’s rising stress levels.  He shook and trembled within the organic netting that held it in place, the cannon on top twisting this way and that.  John pushed off of the wall before he came to a rest against the ramming bone on what Crichton referred to as his face even though Pilot insisted the Leviathan’s do not in fact have faces.

He patted the nose awkwardly, hands resting on the not-metal that Leviathan’s produce for the hull.  It was warm and had a slight hum that vibrated up his arm.  Turning, he settled himself upon the nose of the ship, the baby already big enough that he was easily fifty motras long, plenty of enough room for him. 

After several long seconds of silence as the baby rocked in the netting, John began to sing softly in order to calm it.  With comms on an open frequency everyone could hear him, but no one commented as it seemed to do the trick.  It took several heart stopping microns before Pilot confirmed that the baby was relaxing and powering down his guns.  Everyone sighed with relief before getting back to work.

Two arns into singing lullabies, John switched to Queen songs and then to Johnny Cash as Aeryn and Chiana worked to get the doors open further.  They seemed stuck to the limit, but the gap was still too small for the baby make its way out.  And John knew for certain that the baby wanted out.  Several times it powered his engines, inching forward in anxiousness, and several times John had to tell him sternly to wait.  Only once did he power up his guns but John knew it was out of anxiety and unease, not aggression.  It did not take much to calm him back down.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, John got the all clear from Pilot and he pulled himself along his line and out of the way.  The baby practically glided out of Moya, his hull scraping in only a few spots but causing no real damage as he flew into space for the first time.  That was when everyone got their first real look at him.

Compared to Moya he was small, but according to Pilot, Moya had just given birth to one of the largest male Leviathan ever recorded.  Moya was an approximate 1,542 motras long, just under a milon (or mile) with thirty-two accessible tiers.  Her second son was 56 motras and three accessible tiers, a fourth was strictly maintenance big enough only for DRD’s.  But what the crew first noticed was not the size, it was the color.

Moya was a gorgeous deep rusted gold with streaks of darker gold and black outlining her hull.  Her first son was blood red with parts of black, the color of war and death.  This one was nearly impossible to see.  Now that he was outside of Moya, with Crichton and the others back in Command, they could all get a good look at him.  He was midnight black with streaks of deep purple crisscrossing in intricate designs down his hull.  If one was not looking for him, they would not be able to see the young Leviathan flying loops around his mother.

He blended almost perfectly with the background of space, the only tell he was there was the sudden absence of stars as his body blocked them out.  The others did not know if his color was to their advantage or not.  While it could work with the narl in his protection, it could also be used as an offensive tool for getting within firing range of another ship unnoticed, that was of course assuming he was able to confuse another ship’s radar like Talyn had been able too.

His artillery was also quite impressive.  From what Chiana’s strange eyes were able to observe, not only did he have the massive canon on top, but also a series of smaller and less powerful but faster guns for more precise shooting equipped to his underside.  A large gnarly looking grappling hook was attached near his right side along with what appeared to be a flux net capable of disabling a ship with a massive EMP burst on the other side.  A dangerous combination in anyone’s hand let alone a child.

 “What are we going to do?” Rygel questioned.  Though the reaction they had received during the tremendously long birthing showed promise, the crew knew that they could take no chances.  The Hynerian hovered next to Noranti at the table in the mess hall as the others took their own places, serving dinner as they discussed the fate of the child flying blissfully among the stars.

“Do we have to _do_ anything?” Noranti questioned as she masticated some sort of protein.

“You weren’t here with Moya’s first son, so your ignorance on such matters can be excused,” Rygel replied diplomatically.  Though the words seemed harsh, it was more polite then what the others were expecting him to say.

“Ryge is right,” Chiana commented softly, her tone dejected.  “Talyn was out of control, and he was powerful.  That narl out there has more firepower then Talyn ever did.  We can’t not do something.”

“So, what do you suggest,” Aeryn snapped uncomfortably.  She had loved Talyn, and though the Leviathan had sacrificed himself for his mother and their crew, he had still done unspeakable things.

“Can’t we remove the weapons?” Chiana questioned.

“Not without seriously harming him,” Aeryn sighed.

“We could just leave it,” Rygel commented in an off-handed tone.

Silence rang around the room and Pilot felt his carapace droop as the crew discussed the fate of Moya’s child so casually.  It was the Nebari who broke the silence.  “You mean abandon it?”

“That is exactly what I am saying,” Rygel told her, turning his hover chair to face her fully.  “Don’t pretend none of you were thinking it.”

“We _weren’t_ ,” Aeryn bit out.

“I was,” Chiana mumbled dejectedly.

“We,” Crichton cut in, gesturing to everyone around the table, finger landing on Rygel longer than others.  “Are _not_ abandoning Moya’s son.  We are _not_ killing him.  And we are _not_ going to hurt him.” His voice was stern, mind made up.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Rygel questioned hotly.

“ _We_ are going to ask Moya,” he replied, reminding them that this was a living being with a mother.  Shame filled Rygel and Chiana as Crichton let them wallow in it.  “Pilot, does Moya have any ideas?”

It took a long time for Pilot to reply, and when he did, he sounded disheartened.  “Moya and I will accept whatever you all deem necessary, but Moya would me like to convey to you that even though she knows the risks, she wants what is best for her son.  Even if that means _removing_ parts of him.”

Crichton shook his head, as the others thought upon the option.  To _maim_ a narl like that, a child.

_Rock a bye baby, in a tree top._

_Cutting off your limbs, no crying, please stop._

_I know that it hurts, but we’re almost through._

_It’s for your own good, you know that, don’t you?_

“Stop,” his voice was quiet, but grave.  Everyone instantly stopped discussing how much clorium they needed for the operation.  “We are not going to maim him.  With Moya’s permission, I’ll fly over tomorrow and present to him our choice.  We are going to _ask him_ for permission to disable his weaponry.  We are not killing him, we are not abandoning him, and we are not going to cut into him.  Do I make myself clear?”

The crew dispersed; Rygel to his room, Noranti to the kitchen, Chiana to her room.  Aeryn paused at the threshold, undecided to leave or stay.  But John remained seated, eyes flickering rapidly, seeing things that she could not.  She knew that the Ancient knowledge was returning, but she would not burden him with discussion unless he wanted to talk about it.  Aeryn fluttered about between the room and the hall, but John seemed too deep in thought to notice or care. 

Mind made up, she turned from him with a grim expression, face pinched as her teeth worried her bottom lip into bleeding.  It did not take her long to reach her destination, her determined strides eating away the distance.  Pressing her hand into the door, she hesitated once again, hand shifting the hanging curtain aside as her mind danced between the hall and the room.

“Hey,” Chiana greeted her softly, as little D nuzzled into her side.  “You here to pick him up or…”

Aeryn’s eyes darted around as Chiana gestured to the vacant side of the bed.  It was a rather large bed, one that D’Argo had bought because the ones on Moya were too small to fit him comfortably.  The former Peacekeeper could not understand how Chiana could be content in such a large bed without D’Argo’s bulk to fill it.  Turning, she glanced down the hall once more before she sighed in defeat.  “How about the or?”

Chiana smiled at her softly as Aeryn sat at the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes off.  “Aeryn, he’ll come around.  You’ll see.”

“I wish I had as much faith as you,” she replied softly, pulling her pants off before climbing under the sheets and cuddling close to her son and friend.  “Did you not notice?”

Chiana shushed her delicately.  “We all know, even Noranti.  He sees them again…doesn’t he?” Aeryn only nodded her head, burying her face into her son’s hair.  “He’ll be okay, Aeryn.  You’ll see.  He’s strong.” They drifted to sleep slowly, Chiana wrapping her arms around the Sebacean as D’Argo was pressed between them. 

In the mess hall, Crichton traced his finger upon the table in an absent minded way, equations haunting his vision as he tried to yank his sanity back into place.  It was difficult since the blue had now claimed occupancy upon his mind.  They laid siege to his synapses, and though Crichton battened down the hatches and secured the doors, the blue continued to leak in.

 

 

 


	2. All in All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day negative four:  
> The crew begin to question my sanity. Chiana worries needlessly. Honestly there's nothing wrong with me. Now only if I can get the crew to understand it. 1812 is somehow convinced I'm his dad or something. And according to Pilot, I'm the Chosen One.

_“Do you know what the rutten chain of command is, it’s the chain I go and beat you with until you understand who is in rutten command.”_

_-Jayne Cobb_

*          *          *          *          *

Solar Day -4

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

When John awoke, the blue shattered from his mind like broken glass, gauging deep scars of remembrance in his synapses.  The pain was present, but he could no longer _see_ the blue.  He felt that today would be a good day.  With the imbedded knowledge out of sight, he felt he could function properly for the first time in weekens.  The bed was empty beside him and D’Argo’s crib was vacant; even though he felt more alone then he had in a very long time, he also felt a little free.  Without the knowledge of the Ancients weighing down his thoughts he found himself with a sense of lightness.

The soft sheets pooled around his bare waist as he sat alone in the bed, the other side untouched and still made.  Aeryn had not returned to their room last night, but if Crichton was being honest with himself he had already known she was not going to.  The past few monens found her and little D in Chiana’s bed more than their own and he understood, he truly did.  But that did not stop the aching in his heart as he pulled himself from the room and made his way down to the communal showers. 

1812 beeped at him questioningly as John set his clothing aside and pulled himself into a stall.  The cleaning mist that came out was marvelously hot and Crichton found his muscles relaxing as the heat sunk into his skin.  He missed honest to god showers (and bathtubs) but John quietly admitted that Moya’s sauna like bathing stalls had to be the next best thing. 

Scrubbing his body with a cleaning agent he heard his little DRD whirl and beep in greeting as the stall next to his turned on.  If John did not have plans to implement he knew he would luxuriate at least another few microns in the mist, but he knew that he had no such time for it.  Forlornly, he reached over and turned the mist off and the sonic pressure on.  The moisture was expelled from his skin by the vibrating force and John left the cubicle mostly dry but for his hair that he immediately started to scrub with worn towel.

1812 beeped and twittered as it dragged over John’s pants, the moisture on the floor sticking to the leather.  Thankfully they were water proof so John decided not to make a fuss.  Grabbing the clothing, he pulled them on quickly as the little drone darted back for his shirt.  Huffing in amusement John sat at one of the benches lining the wall and pulled on his boots as 1812 presented him with the damp top.  The little drone twirled happily as Crichton finished dressing and he got the impression that if it had been a dog its tail would have been wagging.

“Seriously, Crichton,” Chiana’s voice was ruff with sleep as she wandered out of her own cubicle naked.  He turned to her but tactfully kept his eyes above her chin.  It was hardly the first time he had seen her naked.  Living in close quarters soon got rid of any of his bashfulness about nudity.  But like Zhaan, Chiana seemed to hold no concept of modesty.  It was something he had gotten used to.

“What, Pip?”

“Your _pet_ ,” she spit the word as if it was something distasteful before she grabbed his towel that he was still using and vigorously scrubbed it through her hair.  Tossing it back to him, she continued, “that kind of behavior isn’t normal for drones.  Did you reprogram it or something?”

John shifted, turning his gaze down to the painted DRD who blinked its antennae up at him.  “No, he’s always been this way.”

“Sure it has,” she snorted in amusement as she pulled her own clothes on.  “Leave it to you to find the one fahrbot DRD out there.”

“He isn’t fahrbot,” Crichton argued as he made his way over to the sink and grabbed the cream, lathering onto his face.  “He’s just…”

“Mega fahrbot,” Chiana interjected when Crichton failed to finish.  “Everyone agrees, even Pilot.  I mean, who’s ever heard of a DRD within a Leviathan that functioned separately from it.  You know that it refuses to take on the commands assigned to it by either Pilot or Moya?  It ain’t normal.”  She refused to refer to it as anything other than an object, unlike Crichton who insisted that it was male.  DRD’s did not have genders, but the human declined to acknowledge that fact.

Crichton pulled the razor away to look at her.  “1812 isn’t crazy, Pip.”

Her reflection grinned at him when he turned back to the mirror and continued to shave.  “You only say that because you’re more fahrbot then it is.” Crichton made a huffing noise in amusement, but he did not bother with a response.  “You goin’ over to the narl in a bit, yeah?”

Drawing the razor down slowly, he caught her eyes in the reflection.  “Yeah,” when she only shifted uncertainly, Crichton put the razor down and turned to her fully.  “Something the matter.”

She twitched, her fingers coming up and playing with the end of her sleeve.  “Pilot says his weaponry is active, even his internal protection.”

Crichton sighed softly before he reached out and stilled her fingers.  Her snake like pupils flicked up from the floor and locked onto his eyes.  “We already knew that, Pip.  But someone has to go over there and both Pilot and Moya think it should be me.  What’s really eating at you?”

Her gaze darted around rapidly before she finally stilled.  Turning her hand around, she gripped the human’s fingers between hers and stepped closer.  “Aeryn said, well…we noticed-the crew I mean.  Everyone’s…”

“Deep breaths, Chi,” Crichton interrupted as the Nebari stumbled through her words.  “Just say it.”

She did as he told and took a deep breath, her chest expanding and shoulders slumping after she let it out.  “You’re seeing them again, right?  I mean…the things those Ancient fekkiks put in your head?”

Crichton released the breath he had not realized he had been holding.  It whistled past his teeth as he groaned in frustration and dropped his gaze to the floor.  “You mean everyone knows?” When Chiana only nodded her head he sighed louder.

“Don’t worry, Crichton,” Chiana reassured softly, patting his shoulder awkwardly as he just stood there.  “We’ll figure this out.  You’ll take care of Moya’s narl and then we’ll figure it out.  You’ll be okay, ‘cause your always okay…right?”

“Yeah,” John huffed softly as he turned back to the mirror and picked the razor up again.  Blue eyes in the mirror, and _blue_ on it.  “I’m always okay.”

*          *          *          *          *

Breakfast was an awkward affair.  They sat around the table discussing tentative back up plans incase disabling the baby Leviathan’s weaponry did not work.  And even though he participated the bare minimum, John began to notice the looks that everyone had been giving him.  The looks that he had been receiving for the past few monens when he thought about it.  They gazed at him with worry and pity.  He was unsure which one was worse.

John could not understand how he had not noticed that everyone had been giving him _those_ looks, but even now he could feel the blue creeping up on him.  It started as it usually did, just out of his peripheral, teasing little bright blue streaks dancing in the air.  John learned to ignore it -he had to pretend not to see- because he knew the second he acknowledged the existence it, it would flood his vision and then it was _all_ he could see.

_Don’t look.  If you don’t look it’s not there._

“John?” Aeryn’s stilted accent cut into his attention and he turned from the alluring blue that was taunting him.  He hummed a questioning tune as he saw all eyes on him.  “John, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replied slowly as he picked up his utensil and resumed eating.  The food was cold and the others plates were all bare.  How long had he been distracted?

_Further down the rabbit hole, Alice._

Aeryn shifted uncomfortably next to him, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear.  Across the table Chiana was bouncing D’Argo as she diverted his attention, but even so he could tell her focus was mostly on him.  It was Noranti who finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the group.  “Perhaps Aeryn should tend to Moya’s child instead.”

“No,” John replied immediately.

“John-”

“I said no, Aeryn,” he cut her off and she flinched back as he dropped his utensil in annoyance.  It clattered loudly off the metal tray and a deafening silence fell over them.  “I’m fine, I am going to be fine.”

His eyes caught hers and Aeryn spent several microts staring at him, her gaze drifting about his face as if searching for something.  Eventually she sighed in defeat and turned away from him.  “Very well then,” her gaze remained fixed upon the table even as he stood to leave.

He pressed his palm onto her bare shoulder, sweeping her hair aside as his fingers brushed her neck.  “I’m fine, Aeryn…really.”

The sound of his boots against metal proceeded him as he left the mess and made his way to the treblin side hanger.  “No,” Aeryn replied softly as he crossed the threshold into the hall.  “You’re not.”

*          *          *          *          *

“Crichton!” Chiana called loudly, jogging into the hanger and running into the work bench in front of the Prowler.

John turned to her, one hand in the fighter’s cockpit as he secured 1812.  “Hey, Pip.  Can you hand me that flashlight?”

The Nebari turned, tripping over an open toolbox with its contents scattered across the floor.  Between Crichton’s tinkering with the pods and Aeryn’s constant tune-ups on the Prowler, it was nearly impossible to keep the hanger organized.  “You know, you should let Aeryn go with you,” she commented as she ruffled through a box.

“She never asked,” Crichton replied distractedly as he climbed into the Prowler.

“Yeah, well,” Chiana added as she finally located the flashlight.  It was hiding beneath a rag next to the work bench.  “She’s done this kinda thing before, ya know?”

“No can do, Pip,” John began the power up sequence as Chiana jogged up the rolling stairs secured to the side of the ship.  “Believe it or not, I already asked Pilot.”

“And?” She prompted as she leaned onto the side of the cockpit, handing him the torch as the engines began to rumble.

“Moya says no.  Apparently she’s uncomfortable with more than one of us being over there at a time.  Pilot didn’t go into it, but I understand.”

“Yeah,” Chiana sighed softly.  She understood it as well.  Maybe things could have been different with Talyn if Crais had not gotten a hold of him.  Narl’s are too easily impressionable and do not understand the concept of deception or lying.  She had been that way once, when she was younger.  Chiana had taken nearly everything at face value, and the first time she had been manipulated and deceived it took her cycles to understand _why_.  “You gotta be careful, yeah?”

“Course, Pip,” he replied gently, securing the flight headset on his head before he reached over and grabbed one of her hands.  “I’m always careful, you know that.”

“No you’re not,” she replied, smiling cheekily.

“Hey,” he barked, looking offended.  “Like 80% of the time it’s _not_ my fault.  Dren just happens.”

“Yeah, and 80% of the time, it happens to you,” she laughed, jumping from the stairs before he could swat at her.

“That ungrateful little-”

“Commander,” Pilot interrupted as the cockpit canopy secured.  “Moya wishes to know if you are ready.  She is quite anxious.  She would also like to thank you again for agreeing to this, and to remind you once more that most of his systems are functioning and active, including his interior defense.”

_Oh this is going to go swimmingly._

“Open the hanger doors, Pilot.”

*          *          *          *          *

John steered the Prowler around the baby Leviathan as he waited for permission to dock.  The narl was twisting this way and that, forcing John to widen his perimeter more than once to avoid a collision.  The little ship was extremely curious, trying to follow Crichton’s Prowler around even as the human was trying to board. 

“He truly is beautiful, Moya,” John commented softly into the flight headset as the narl spun around the Prowler as if they were dancing.  The kid was tiny next to his mother, probably the length of twenty to twenty-five Prowlers if they lined up nose to engine. 

The overall shape of the narl was very similar to Talyn’s.  His two side arms came forward, unlike Moya’s where they hugged the hull until they reached the tail.  Talyn’s tail had been bulky, flaring out at the end in a solid pyramid.  The narl’s tail was more elegant, sleek lines that flowed into a curving flare, the tips tapering downwards into a half crescent. 

In Starburst, the two arms would pull close and the ends would tuck underneath the tail fin, streamlining his whole body and initiating the Starburst drive by the energy created as the ends of the arms pulled away from the tail, but keeping the front tucked in safely to the main body.  It was an ingenious design, both stunning to watch and completely functional.  Aside from the arms and weapons, the rest of his shape was all Moya.  Talyn had been more elongated, more circular like a rounded trapezoid, but the narl had Moya’s sideways oval shape.

A series of ridges cascaded down the spine column of his back, small at the front and end as they gained size towards the middle.  There was a gap between the two largest where John knew the sonic ascendancy cannon lay hidden.  The flux net and grappling hook where pulled into the bottom of the arms as well as the two rail guns, capable of firing up to 500 rounds of heated plasma a micron tucked into the sides.

After much conciliation, John got permission to dock as Moya finally had convinced her son to hold still long enough.  The hamman side hanger door opened and John swooped the fighter craft in before the narl became impatient and stated to twirl about again.  Once he was in the hanger, maneuvering took all of his attention and his skill.  Unlike Moya, the baby’s hanger was much smaller, and even though he was flying the Prowler and not the larger transport pod, it was still a very tight fit.  He would have to back the craft out when he left as there simply was not enough room to turn it around while still inside.

Landing gently, John powered down the fighter and lifted 1812 out as he jumped from the ship.  Well he tried to jump at least but he did not land as the narl had forgotten to turn on the gravity inside the hanger after he pressurized it.  1812 seemed to have no problem as he immediately attached himself to the first surface he bumped into.

“Pilot?” Crichton called into his comm as he floated into a wall and bounced off of it before he could grab hold of a handle or beam.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Could you have Moya inform her son,” he grunted as his back slammed into a rut.  “That after the hanger is pressurized he needs to reengage the gravity.”

“Has his gravity not initiated?” Pilot asked him calmly as Crichton drifted above what looked like the beginnings of individual docking bays.  At the moment they appeared to be tiny platforms growing out of the walls.

“Pilot, now please!” He did not quite snap.

“Very well, Commander,” Pilot replied.  “I’ll inform Moya at once.”

Crichton heard what sounded like a car turning over and a fan coming on before he felt himself become heavy.  He only had enough time to mumble a quiet, “Oh frell,” before he plummeted two motras and landed harshly on the metal ground, clipping his thigh on the Prowler’s wing and winding himself quite thoroughly.

“You may want to hold onto something,” Pilot informed him and if Crichton had any air in his lungs he would have replied with either an insult or sarcasm.  But he could not breathe as it was so John chose to just lay there and wallow instead…or at least until he got his lungs to function again.

Rolling onto his front, Crichton slowly shifted until he was on all fours and pulled himself underneath the Prowler and to the hanger entrance.  Only once he was nearly upon the panel was he able to stand, the nose of the fighter just inches from touching the royal purple door.  Golden lines bisected the purple in a similar pattern to Moya’s doors and Crichton took a moment to admire it before he pressed the green lit panel on the side.  Unlike Moya, the door did not rotate on the vertical axis, but slid into the wall like Talyn’s had.

Grunting curiously, Crichton made his way into the hall, 1812 rolling behind him.  As the narl was still so young, a lot of the hallways were incomplete, branching off and ending suddenly.  Many panels were missing, exposing wires and the organic mesh that held them in place.  Very few of the lights were active and those that were blinked sporadically, like a bulb that was not fully installed.  Luckily he remembered to bring a torch with him and he used it to make his way to the Command.

The hallway reminded him of another Leviathan, Rovhu: the prison transport.  He had looked similar to this when he died, all of him exposed and scattered, panels missing, the ceiling uncovered.  There had been chaos and destruction around every corner, but the one huge difference aside from the older one being infected and diseased was that the narl was not shrouded in death but in hope.

1812 beeped at John and wagged its antennae like eyes to gain his attention.  The human had stopped near the Command door, hand stroking down a layered royal purple rib, the same bright gold designs twisting in the organic metal.  It was warm to the touch, and Crichton could feel a steady pulsing vibration beneath his fingertips.  It felt almost like a heartbeat. 

Smiling gently, he finally turned back to the DRD.  1812 flashed his eye lights in what Crichton took to be exasperation and scuttled the last few feet to the door.  Amused, he followed; pressing his hand to the door control and entering the Command.

The room was poorly lit just like the rest of the ship.  A few lights were blinking from consoles and the ceiling but most of the room was illuminated by the nearby sun, casting everything in a blue glow.  Sweeping his torch from one end to the other, he noted that the Command was not terribly different from Talyn’s.  His main control system was directly in the front, although more centered towards the middle of the room, leaving a large open space between the consoles and the main viewing window.

Underneath the window lay a padded bench that curved with the natural bend of the narl’s overall shape.  It was a part of the wall, the metal flowing into a comfortable seating area.  The consoles along the sides were attached to nothing but the floor so when the Leviathan grew, the wall would pull further away from them.  Whether it was to make room for more consoles or perhaps to be just a more open space like Moya, John could not tell.  Each side had three stools that grew out of the floor, spaced far enough apart that two people could easily stand between them.

The center console was sectioned off not much unlike a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, multiple panels of light shaped in complex patterns two inches beneath the segmented frame more common to Leviathans.  The combination was more comforting then John was willing to admit, the panels a mixture of gold and purple instead of Peacekeeper red and white like Talyn’s had been. 

As he stood there, a light above him flickered unsteadily before finally holding; a large circular panel at least five feet across protruded down from the ceiling like an angled donut.  The glow was bright, illuminating the whole room as it was the main source of light.  It was low enough that he could reach up and touch it, but John knew that the way Leviathans grew that it would not be so for long.  Six purple ribs connecting into its sides before flowing down the walls and into the floor.  The larger outer ring illuminated a gentle gold interlaced with thin strings of purple that shifted as if in water.  The two foot center piece was still dark. 

A series of lights began to flicker to life along the floor, purple circles of luminosity lining the side consoles in straight rows.  Another set lined the front window while patterns of lights danced along the sides of the consoles in intricate shapes of gold.  Between the gold and purple, the room was cast in warm and comforting colors and John felt himself relaxing, even as the several interior guns he could now see tracked his movements.

The weapons console was split into two different areas.  It appeared as if the center console was designed to control all of the ships functions including artillery.  A smaller pillar just to the left protruded from the floor accessed the short and long distance sensors and another identical pillar to the right for the communications array.  If John stepped forward, he would be able to access and control the main console, communications and the sensors without moving.  It was a convenient design.

The sonic ascendancy cannon could also be accessed with the smaller console along the left side of the room that also controlled the rail guns.  The flux net and grappling hook’s secondary access point were located on the console lining the other side along with the short and long distance sensors.  The command was designed to be comfortably controlled by either one person or an entire crew. 

Several feet in front of the main console was a circular line of gold about a foot across embedded into the black floor where Pilot had told him the manual flight control was located to fly the ship.  John blinked curiously at its absence but then assumed that it perhaps retracted like the doors, only coming out when it was needed.  Moya’s manual flight control was within a side upright standing console that was used as a table otherwise.  When accessed, the flat surface rotated 90 degrees to activate the manual controls.

As John stepped closer the interior guns tracked his movements.  Painted black like the hull, they blended well with the black walls but contrasted with the royal purple ribs.  When they were not moving, John hardly noticed that they were there.

_Be vewy, vewy quiet.  We’re huntin’ for wabbits._

1812 beeped at John, the noise sounding like insects scuttling as it gathered the human’s wandering attention.  John quirked an eyebrow at the drone but stepped forward completely until he was standing directly beneath the ceiling light, still not in reach of any of the consoles.  The center circle within the gold ring flashed purple as the Leviathan trilled at him.  John could not be sure but he thought that it held a curious note to it.

“Hey there,” Crichton started, shuffling awkwardly as he tucked his hands behind his back to stave off the temptation of touching anything.  It felt like a loose military position, but John decided that it was safer coming off as more strict then it was to give into his childish urges and started pressing random buttons just to see what they would do.  “My name’s Commander John Crichton.  This is 1812.  We live on your mom, Moya.”

The center light pulsed as the narl trilled and tweeted.  It was another glaring difference from his older brother, one that John found he really liked.  While Talyn had beeped in deep bass like tones, this one seemed to chirp.  It reminded John of the birds back on Earth that sang during the mating season.  The sound was actually quite beautiful and pleasant to listen to.

“You can understand me, right?  Pilot, can he understand me?”

“Of course Commander,” Pilot’s voice broke over the comm.  “Leviathans are born with complete banks of data including science, math, ancestral history, and language.  Both Moya and her baby start off knowing more languages when they are only a solar day old than most species learn throughout their entire life cycle…” There was a long pause as Pilot took the moment to translate the nonsensical chirrups.  “The baby would like to know what you mean by name.”

“Name, well that’s…uh,” how did one define a name.  “It’s like a designation.  Your species is a Leviathan, your mom is a Leviathan, but you are both separate entities.  So your mom is Moya, that’s her name, so even if I am talking to a Leviathan, by calling Moya by name I have designated that I am speaking to or about her.  Does that make sense?”

There was a series of chirps and trills as the purple light above him seemed to pulse with the syllables of each sound.  After a moment, Pilot’s voice translated through the comm.  “Moya and I have corrected any of the confusion behind your explanation.”

“Gee, thanks Pilot.” John snorted sarcastically.  He thought his definition was superb.  Apparently others did not.

“He is also asking what his designation is.”

“Uh,” John shifted from foot to foot.  “What did you and Moya name him?”

“We did not,” Pilot replied shortly.  “We were hoping that _you_ would name him, Commander.”

Crichton stood there in a stunned silence for several microts before he flushed a deep red in embarrassment.  “Can I ask why you want _me_ to name him?”

“Of course,” Pilot replied in his usual tone of indifference.  “It is for the very same reason that we chose you to be the first introduced to Moya’s baby.”

Shifting about awkwardly, John brought one of his hands up to run it through his short hair.  “And why is that exactly?  You never explained.”

“Because Commander, we trust you,” he answered simply.  Pilot remembered in the beginning where the crew had the chance to go home and how they had taken the payment from him, cutting his arm off.  He remembered how furious Crichton had gotten.  Pilot had never before had someone mad _for_ him. 

Moya remembered how after she had gotten stuck into separate realities and put back together, Crichton had spent the entire solar day with Pilot to make sure that they were both recovering.  And she remember how hard he tried to keep Talyn safe, what he had sacrificed to keep everyone safe.  The human had done much for them, and they remembered.  They trusted him.

Flushing in embarrassment, John stuttered for a moment before he regained control of his mind and mouth.  “You want me to name him?  Well…okay then.  I’ll have to think about it.  It’s gotta be a good name, the best.  So uh, right…” Crichton cleared his throat.  “Back to the matter at hand.  So…” and this was the hard part.  John had to figure out a way to get permission from the narl to override his weaponry, and he had to do it in a way that the child would not be in any pain and fully understood and accepted why and how.  And he had to do it without getting shot or killed.

 _I am so frelled_.

“I have a son, a narl like you.  His name is D’Argo,” John started cautiously as the Leviathan trilled at him curiously.  Crichton was proud to be able to catch the questioning tone all on his own without Pilot’s translation.  “I’m Human and his mom is Sebacean, so D’Argo’s a half breed, like you.  You’re half Leviathan like Moya, and half Peacekeeper.” He decided to go with the more neutral word of Peacekeeper then Warship as Talyn had been called.  “That’s why you and Moya look different.”

A series of trills and warbles accompanied the pulsing light and John could almost feel the translator microbes trying to interpret them.  He could hear the questioning tone, just not the question itself.  Smiling softly, John took comfort that he was getting better at understanding the narl.

“The baby asks for you to define what you mean by different.  He knows he is not the same as Moya and it is starting to cause tension between them.  Moya is scared that he will react like Talyn.”

John knew from what Pilot had told him that Leviathan’s were born with their own species history, so the baby should already know about Talyn.  After a moment of thought, John decided that it would be best to explain it all anyways.  Just because the narl had access to the information did not mean he understood it.

“Leviathans are a peaceful race,” he started slowly, sighing as he made his way past the center console and seating himself on the padded bench beneath the window.  It was long, spanning the whole length of the window and deep enough that he could lay back on his elbows without touching the glass.  “They are born without weapons and their only defensive capabilities are there natural shielding, thick hulls, and Starburst.  The bone on the front can be used to ram, but I’ve only ever seen that done twice. 

“When your mom was under Peacekeeper control, they placed a device inside Moya that integrated Leviathan DNA and the organic mapping of a Peacekeeper Warship.  That’s why you and Talyn were both born with weapons and Moya was not.”

There was a long silence as the baby took in the information.  After a while there was another questioning chirrup and John could have sworn that his microbes translated the word Talyn.  Before he could think more on it, Pilot’s voice broke his train of thought.  “The baby is asking about Talyn.”

“What does he want to know?” Crichton questioned, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

“Everything,” Pilot replied after a short pause.  “Moya is sending him information, but the baby would like to hear it from you.” The way it was said made John frown.  Pilot spoke in a tone that was bordering on frustration.

“Is everything okay, Pilot?” John asked carefully.

Pilot grunted before sighing loud enough to be heard over the comms.  “The baby is still receiving transmission from Moya, but he is refusing to respond to her quarries.”

Crichton could hear the worry in his voice, the fear.  Talyn did something similar right before he shot at Moya and fled with Crais.  “Pilot, tell Moya not to worry.  I’ll fix this, he’s just scared.  Just…just let me talk to him.”

Turning his attention back to the narl, the Commander pressed two fingers into the pressure point in his eye socket above his eye.  He could feel a headache coming on.  “Look, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, and I’ll tell you all of it.  I will never lie to you, alright?  I need you to trust me when I tell you that.  But what you’re doing is scaring your mom, okay?  You can’t cut her out like that, she worries for you.  I know you’re scared, you have data banks full of information that doesn’t make sense and you’re frightened.  So if you want to know about Talyn, I’ll tell you about him…okay?”

Silence filled the room, the blue sun shining through the window before the baby banked and Moya filled the view.  After a long while of just gazing out into space, Crichton heard the quiet sound of whirring as the interior guns lifted back into the ceiling.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Crichton propped one leg up on the bench as he turned to sit sideways, leaning against the window as he kept his eyes on the view.

“So…Talyn.  I guess I’ll start at the beginning.  He was not unlike you, a little smaller sure…his hull was red with black.  I much prefer your color, it’s more peaceful,” John commented softly and the ship chirped at him.  John was able to pick up a hint of smugness but no actual words.  A smile pulled at his lips, the kid obviously preening under the compliment.  “I lived on him for a time…well, the other me.  At one point there was two me’s, I mean literally two of me…never mind, long story.  I’ll tell you all about it later.  Anyhow, he was stubborn and full of pride and promise.  Talyn loved his mother, I know he did…and Moya,” he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tapped his finger to the glass in a rhythm.  “Moya loved him so much…”

The purple light pulsed as a series of chirps and tweets filled the room.  Once again John _heard_ the word Talyn, but it was lost in the trilling as the baby questioned.  He sat there for a moment, microbes and the power of his mind trying to translate as Pilot seemed to be giving them there space.  When he tapped his comm there was no reply, meaning that it had been turned off as John attempted to help Moya’s son through his distress.

After a while, his mind seemed to wrap around the nonsensical notes and place them somewhat into an understanding.  “Are you asking what happened to him?” John asked carefully.  In reply he received what could only be interpreted as a series of excited tweets that let him know he was on the right track. 

“He died, little one,” he replied softly, genuine sorrow filling him.  “He died saving the lives of his mother and everyone aboard her.  He was a handful and he was dangerous…but he was extremely brave.  Talyn was still a baby, only a cycle old…and Moya still misses him…we all still miss him…

“When he was born, Moya and the people on her were being hunted, pursued.  She went into labor and gave birth to him near an enemy base and your mom knew that if the Peacekeepers found them, they would kill her baby or enslave him.  So they hid.  There was a man, a Sebacean named Crais…an ex-Peacekeeper, he wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t exactly bad either.  He got on board Talyn and convinced him to leave his mother…Crais became his Captain.  He was born into a time of violence and bonded to a Captain that would see him used for a _weapon_ ,” John spat the word as if he could rid himself of it.  Fingers drawing random patterns on the glass.

He let the silence continue before 1812 nudged his foot, antennae blinking.  Crichton tapped the little drone with the tip of his boot in retaliation.  “Talyn’s peaceful nature that naturally comes from all Leviathans battled with his fierce instincts of protection and his volatile weapons capabilities.  He spent the majority of his life in conflict with himself and he was confused and scared.  Talyn should have had a Captain that protected him, guided him, sought not to use him…but he wasn’t as lucky.”

_Not as lucky as you…I won’t let you down the same path.  Even if it kills me._

“Moya’s scared,” he continued after another prompted nudge from the DRD.  As he spoke he began to gain an understanding of the little Leviathan.  “She worries that you’ll leave her.  Moya feels worried _for_ you, not because you’re different, not because of your weapons…there’s nothing _wrong_ with you,” he hissed the word like it was something vile.  Talyn had been convinced there was something wrong with him too.

“She’s just scared that others will want to use you.  But I-we won’t let that happen.” John vowed fiercely.  Moya’s son would grow up safe in a time of peace.  He will not know war or fear.  He will not be hunted or enslaved.  John refused to let that transpire.

“She just wants you safe little one, please don’t punish her for that,” he begged softly, turning back to the room as the silence dragged on.

The lights on the console pulsed steadily as the narl flew around his mother.  It was not often that he got to view Moya from space so he took the time to enjoy it.  She truly was an impressive sight, and utterly massive.  John placed his hand on the glass, pressing it in to feel the cold.  There was a slight chill to it, but the glass still felt warmer than it should have on any other ship.  Leviathans had self-regulating environments including temperature.  The glass was warm because the baby was alive.  The thought made him smile fully, lips pulled over teeth and wrinkles around the corner of his eyes.

Pilot’s voice over the intercom drew his attention.  “Commander,” his voice was loud in the quiet of the ship, echoing over the steady thrum that all Leviathans seemed to have.  “You did it, the baby has reestablished communications.  Moya and I are grateful.”

“Don’t mention it, Pilot,” John replied softly, pulling his hand from the glass and running his thumb over his fingertips.  “Hey Pilot?  Can you and Moya give us a moment?  I have something I need to ask the kid and I would prefer it if we didn’t have an audience.”

“Of course, Commander,” Pilot replied after a moment of hesitation.  “Moya and I will cut communications for a quarter arn.  Is that a sufficient length of time?”

“That’s perfect…and Pilot?  Tell Moya…tell her I said thank you.  It means a lot that you both trusted me enough to do this.”

“Think nothing of it,” Pilot responded gently.  “Terminating communications…now.”

“I need you to pay careful attention,” John started after the baby trilled at him in confusion.  He stood slowly, making his way back to the center of the room.  This felt like a conversation that needed to be held standing.  “I’m going to ask you to do something for me, then tomorrow I’m going to ask you a question.”

John waited until he got a confirmation chirp before he continued.  “I want you to talk to your mom and Pilot later tonight.  Just talk, that’s all.  And when you do I want you to ask about Talyn.  I want you to think about the decisions he made, the actions he took, the people…the innocent people he killed.  Then I want you to think about what you would have done differently, I want you to ask Moya what she would have done differently.”

He trailed a hand along the center console, fingers dipping into the patterned holes but not far enough to touch the buttons below.  “Talyn was scared and he had access to powerful weapons that made him no longer afraid.  So he used them…he used them without the knowledge and forethought of someone wiser than himself.  He used them without mercy and without compassion.  He used them because they made him less scared.  And in doing so he hurt a lot of people, your mother and his own Captain included.”

Turning, he strode to the center of the Command area, equal distance to all consoles and directly beneath the pulsing light of purple that lit up every time the baby spoke.  “And then tomorrow I’m going to ask you yes or no.  Tomorrow I will request your permission to place an override on your weapons, accessible only to a person of _your_ choosing.  This will allow you to grow and learn peacefully while someone who is knowledgeable and not afraid to make rational decisions on when it is and is not appropriate to activate your weaponry.  If you say yes I need you to choose someone who will guide you, teach you, who will protect you.

“I need you to understand that the decision is entirely yours to make.  You can say no if you want.  And I need you to trust me when I say that no matter what, no matter the answer you give or the reaction you have nothing will ever happen to you.  We will not abandon you, we will never do anything without your permission, and we will _never_ harm you.  You understand?”

Several long microts passed before the baby trilled in acknowledgement.  John reached up, stroking his fingers across the slick glass containing the light.  It pulsed purple beneath his fingertips and the ship rumbled in what Crichton was able to translate as contentment.  Almost like a cat purring.  He could feel the vibrations traveling through his arm into his chest.

“Okay…” John sighed the word, fingers still stoking along the light and the deep gold metal that separated the center from the outer ring.  “I’ll be back tomorrow, alright?  And if you say no, then we will figure something else out…together.”

John gave the light one more affectionate pat before he made his way back to the entry doors.  1812 beeped and chittered at him forlornly and Crichton slowed to a halt before he rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned his attention to the DRD.  The drone was still by the center console, refusing to move as his antennae drooped pitifully. 

“What? Seriously?” John questioned, his whole manner frustrated.  “You want to stay?”

1812 wagged his antennae and blinked his eye lights.  “Dear God, what has my life turned into…I’m not your dad, 1812.  You can stay if the baby says it’s okay.”

The narl’s light flashed as it twittered eagerly.  “Well there you go,” John replied in fond annoyance as he seemed to roll his head with his eyes and turned back to the door.  He waved a hand over his shoulder as he passed the threshold.  “You two don’t stay up too late,” John turned down the hall, reeling backwards and tilting his head back through the door.  “And you,” he pointed to the drone.  “Yes, you.  You stay out of his systems.  You hear me?  I mean it.”

His only reply was the random chittering squeaks from the DRD and the narl’s soft trills as he made his way back to the Prowler.  All in all that could have gone much worse.  Today was a good day.


	3. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day negative three:  
> It seems our luck may finally be turning good. Moya is jubilant, the narl has come to an arrangement, and I've seen no blue today. On the other hand I've made concessions that will make my work harder, Aeryn has run out of patience, and Chiana is singularly the most unhelpful person I know.

_“The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on.”_

_-Robert Bloch_

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day -3

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

            John poked the food cubes with the two pronged fork as he stared listlessly at the table.  Even after years of eating the stuff, it still tasted unappetizing at the best of times.  With his stomach twisting up in knots, the prospect of eating at all made him queasy. 

It was still early, even by ship standards, but John was unable to convince himself to crawl back into bed with his wife and son.  He had been unable to sleep all night, thoughts tumbling through his mind, laced with _blue_ every time he opened his eyes.  The probabilities were far too high on the list of ending disastrously, and knowing their general luck, Crichton did not hold much hope for the future of Moya’s child.  All the same, he prayed and wished, even as he planned for the worst.

There were just too many things that could go wrong.  The baby could refuse to have restrictions programmed into his weapons.  Just the thoughts of what the crew would be forced to do to insure the safety of Moya, themselves, and the baby made him nauseous.   He would not like it, but John knew that he would do (had done) any sort of distasteful things in order to keep his family safe.  Now was no different, even if it was just a narl.

Shaking his head from the thoughts, John sighed softly before he pushed his unfinished plate down the table.  Rygel would be up soon anyways, he was always more than happy to eat whatever leftovers had been abandoned.  Marching from the mess hall, he paused at the threshold.  Glancing to the right he took several hesitant steps down the hall where Command lay. 

Instead, he turned and strode the other way, gait eating up the distance as he turned down halls and climbed the hatches until he eventually found himself in the observatory.  The dome glass that incased the ceiling and walls was near invisible, a slight reflection off of one curve where the blue sun shown was the only proof that separated him from the vacuum of space.  The view was magnificent, the stars sliding across the black as Moya twisted lazily through space. 

Blue eyes darted across the sky as he sought out Moya’s son.  It took a while, his hull blending in perfectly with the vast darkness of space, but the subtle disappearance of stars gave away his position.  As he glided closer, his underbelly just a dozen metras away from where John stood, he realized just how beautiful the Leviathan looked.  He was hit with a sense of nostalgia as he remembered how beautiful Talyn had looked as well.

“He is gorgeous, Moya,” John commented softly as he lay on the warm floor and watched the narl lazily turned and slipped through the void.  The hushed vibrations and soft hum that only a Leviathan could produce soothed him into a half dozing state.  He had missed that when he had been on Earth.

 _Terra_ _/ˈtɛrə/ Noun meaning not home._

When he had returned to Earth after four years of space he thought he had finally made it home.  But as he sat in the house where he grew up, or fished in the lake where he was first taught how to cast a line, all he could think about was the hum…Moya’s hum.  It was so low and quiet, barely registering in the human’s ears so it slid into the background like a white noise.  And the vibrations of her hull, the floor, the walls.  It all reminded him how alive she was, and how dead everything on Earth seemed.

John laid there for several arns before Pilot’s voice pulled him back to the present.  “Commander, Moya’s son wishes to speak to you.  He said he has come to a decision and requests for you to board at your earliest convenience.”

“Thanks, Pilot,” John replied softly, pushing off the floor and standing for a moment as the blood rushed back to his head leaving him slightly dizzy.  “Tell him I will be over in a quarter arn.”

Making his way out the door and down the hall, he stroked his hand along the wall and ribs, fingertips tingling from the gentle pulsations of Moya’s systems.  “Commander?” Pilot’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

“Was there something else, Pilot?”

Pilot paused momentarily before answering.  “Moya would like to thank you.  She says that she appreciates that you had not forced her son into relinquishing control of his arsenal.  She would also like to thank you for suggesting that her son should talk to her.”

Smiling softly, John slid down a ladder, bypassing several tiers.  “I’m taking that it went well then?”

“Yes,” Pilot replied, voice even and calm as usual.  “They discussed much late into the night.  Your message has been relayed and the baby is awaiting your presence.”

Feeling optimistic, John trotted into the docking bay, a skip in his step as rounded the corner.  His jubilance left him quickly though, and a feeling of trepidation overtook him as Chiana and Aeryn both stood between him and the Prowler.

“Hey ladies,” John began cautiously, sidling up to them as the blocked his path.  “What can I do you for?”

Aeryn crossed her arms, shoulders back as she glared down her nose at him.  His smile slid into a frown at her look.  She had the ability to express displeasure with an ease that still seemed to startle him, and right now she was very displeased.  “Where did you wander off to this morning?” She asked, voice clipped in Sebacean though her tone was neutral.

_Danger, danger Will Robinson._

“Uh…Observatory…” John began hesitantly, mentally restraining himself as his feet sought to retreat.  “Didn’t Pilot tell you?” Chiana’s dangerous smirk from her position on the Prowler’s wing had him backpedaling quickly.  “I mean, I’m sure if you had asked, that is…I didn’t want to wake you?”

_He had a great start, but that weak finish will leave him with four points out of ten.  Let’s see if he can stick the landing…_

“Pilot would not help us locate you,” Aeryn replied, her stance intentionally relaxed.

“Oh, that’s uh…weird.”

_And he flops the landing, that is really gonna hurt his final score._

Aeryn was frowning at him now, the corners of her eyes scrunched in a way that showed she was concerned but did not want to telegraph it.  “John,” she sighed softly.

“Look,” he interrupted before she could get started.  Grabbing the duffle full of tools, he walked around his wife to toss it into the Prowler.  “I’m fine, really.”

_Liar_

Aeryn made a scoffing noise at the back of her throat as Crichton climbed the small ladder to power up the fighter.  “No, you’re not.”

“Aeryn,” he exhaled her name with one breath as he turned his back to her to grab the torch off of the work bench.

“No, John,” she snapped, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face her.  “You are not _fine_.  Do you think I would not notice, that none of us would not notice?”

He grabbed the hand that gripped his forearm so tightly, relaxing her fingers.  “Aeryn-”

“No!” She snatched her hand back, striding away from him until she deemed it a fair enough distance before she turned back.  “I’ve been patient, Crichton.  I’ve tried to help when I can but you _are not_ well.”

Running a hand through his short hair he watched as she ranted, hand slicing through the air as if to hit something.  “What would you have me do, Aeryn?”

“We need to find somebody, someone who can take the information the Ancient fekkiks put in your head and yank it out…or bury it so deep that nothing can reach it.”

Sighing softly, he took several steps towards her.  “Aeryn, I know,” he stopped his advance when she retreated.

“No you don’t, John.  You do not see what it is doing to you!” His wife shouted, turning to pace around the Prowler.  Chiana watched quietly from her perch on the wing.  “You don’t sleep,” she began huffing angrily as she tossed the blow torch and welding mask into the cockpit.  “You hardly eat.  You are never present and when you are you don’t seem to be.”

“Aeryn!” John shouted, startling Chiana as he grabbed his wife by the waist, pulling her into a hug.  “I know, baby.  I know.  And when this is all done with the narl, we’ll go find somebody.”

“Promise,” her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his chest.

“I promise, as soon as we have the narl sorted, we’ll go find someone to get this frelling stuff out of my head,” he assured her.  They remained in the embrace for several more moments before they both pulled away.  Aeryn blinked the moisture from her eyes as John ran his hands up and down her arms.  “First I gotta get the narl settled, okay.”

Shaking her head, long black hair waving side to side as she left it down this morning, she mumbled a quiet denial.  “No, Chiana and I will go over, you are not well.”

“Aeryn…” he sighed, pulling her away from the Prowler.

“John, no,” she argued as he gestured for the Nebari to climb down.

“It has to be me, Aeryn.  You know this.”

Chiana slid from the wing.  Sidling up next to the Sebacean, she pressed in close until their arms were flushed.  A silent show of support.

“John-”

“It _has_ to be me,” he cut her off as he climbed into the cockpit.

“Just,” she started, taking a few steps towards him before Chiana’s hand halted her.  “Be careful, okay?”

“Always,” he smiled, pulling his helmet on as the canopy came down and latched in place.

“He’ll be fine,” Chiana commented softly, tugging Aeryn out of the hanger as the Prowler took off.  “You’ll see.  Crichton’s strong.”

0~Page_Break~0

Docking on the narl was a much better experience the second time then it was the first.  Thankfully the young ship remembered to engage the gravity so there were no repeats of the last mishap.  The fit was still tight, so John found himself tossing the tools towards the doors and then sliding down the front of the Prowler so he would not have to crawl underneath it.

His colorful DRD met him at the hanger doors as they opened, sliding into the wall with a soft whooshing noise.  1812 beeped at him in excitement, eye-lights flashing as he led John towards Command.  Laughing softly, Crichton was pleased to note that there was a lot more interior lighting activated so he hardly needed to use the torch at all.  Trailing his hand along the walls, dipping around the ribs, he followed the excitable DRD.

Trilling musical notes met his ears as he crossed the threshold; a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the little ship greeted him.  Strolling into the room, he set his bag against the entry wall and lifted his arm until he fingers could trail across the gold central light, finger nail lightly tapping the purple epicenter that pulsated with every note the ship sang.

He noted that the guns were not present as the ship bid him good morning.  Pleased, John let himself wander around the room, fingers trailing over the gold plaques above each station, but not dipping down into the buttons.  “You two have fun?” He questioned softly as 1812 climbed up one side of the center console and making himself at home on the surface.

“Commander?” Pilot’s voice seemed loud in the small room, washing out the soft hum that was quieter than Moya’s.  Humming softly to let Pilot know he was listening, Crichton returned to the middle of the room and waited patiently.  “Moya’s son would like you to know that he has agreed to your terms, but he has a few of his own.”

John fought the frown that tugged at his lips and instead forced himself to remain calm, and his facial expression neutral.  Pilot sounded slightly anxious but not worried so John let himself relax.  “Alright, I’m listening.”

“He would like you to make the…adjustments,” he halted at the word, as if unsure if it was the proper one.  “At the moment he has decided that he will tolerate no one else onboard.  Moya and I believe it would be best if no one else were to board him at the moment as well.” Pilot added hesitantly.

Silence rang through the comms as John thought of the options.  Although he was ecstatic that the narl was letting him make the necessary changes, he wished that he could at least convince him to let Aeryn come over.  It would be a difficult task for two people, let alone one.  But John knew that in time he could do it, and it was a small concession for the price that was being asked of the narl.

“Alright Pilot,” he acquiesced before turning his attention to the little ship.  “Well, what do you say, little one, shall we get started?”

The narl twittered and chirped, bringing a smile to John’s face as he retrieved the bag.  It appeared that there luck was finally looking up.

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day -1

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

Moya watched her son carefully over the last few solar days as her Commander started to put his plan into effect.  She noticed a difference in this son compared to her previous one.  He seemed to be bonding rather closely with John Crichton, and because Crichton was close to her, so was her son.  He was not distancing himself like Talyn had after he bonded with Craise.

She cared deeply for both of them, her son and the strange human she had become attached to as the cycles passed.  Moya didn’t know what to think about this new development, but she didn’t dwell on it long.  If her child wanted John as his Captain, then the far more experienced Leviathan could spare him.  At least she didn’t have to worry about Crichton flying off with her son to no-one knows where.

This past cycle, flying through the Uncharted Territories once again were the most peaceful she had had in a long while and it left her feeling rejuvenated and a little antsy to starburst, or at least fly without a care like before.  But once the crew had found out that she was carrying an additional passenger they had forbid all forms of travel that could harm the baby.

She rumbled content and happy to her Pilot as she listened to her still unnamed child re-tell all the amazing and extremely exaggerated stories that her Commander had been telling him.  Currently he was halfway through the story of raiding the Shadow Depository, where, in Crichton’s version, he had rescued the big bad Luxan, D’Argo, and everyone from certain doom.  ‘Guns-a-blazing’ was the term he had used.  Neither she nor Pilot knew exactly what that meant, but they got the idea.

For once in a long while, Moya felt pure joy and peace as her crew went about their daily business.  It was such a shame that in the peacefulness of space and the feeling of success they all felt about her child, nobody noticed three incoming ships on the long range scanner.  Because for the first time in a long time, nobody was looking.

 

 


	4. To Be Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Zero:  
> We had to leave them. There was no choice, no option, no reality in which any of this would end well. But we (I) left them anyway. Why did I do it? How could I have done it? I tell myself it was because there was no other option, I tell myself a lot of things. But in the end it doesn't matter, because I left them.

_“Cheese….milk’s leap towards immortality.”_

_-Clifton Fadiman_

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Solar Day 0

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

John was laying on his stomach upon the black floor.  His torso, arms, and head completely concealed underneath the console and center panel.  The bright purple lights gently illuminated the room as the main light above pulsed in curiosity.  John hummed in amusement, his fingers separating the wires from the organic mesh with careful precision. 

His soft chuckle filled the room as the newly named Rovhu suddenly shuddered and all the lights started to flicker.  After much deliberation between the crew, John eventually settled on a name.  He had not known the original Rovhu for very long, but the older male had saved all of their lives in their brief acquaintance.  Aside from Moya, he had never known such a selfless creature.

“Sorry, Rovhu,” John chuckled as he finally pulled several wires free.  “I know it tickles, I’m almost done.”

Signaling for 1812, the tiny drone crawled down the side of the console and used his laser to cut two of the wires.  Grunting in appreciation, John started to connect them to the other wires he had already disconnected when all the lights started to flash and an alarm started to blare loudly.  The sound echoed hollowly down the halls, filling the space with the deafening noise that rose and fell in a never ending crescendo.

Rovhu trilled in fear, body shuddering as he immediately tucked himself underneath Moya’s side.  Startled, Crichton hit his head so hard on the edge of the console, stunned for several long seconds before he began to pull himself from the floor.  Rovhu’s panicked chittering and 1812’s franticly nudging his arm had him pushing himself up and stumbling over to the communications console.  Even with communications switched on, he could not hear anything over the still blaring alarm.

“Rovhu, easy there,” John spoke gently but loud enough to be heard, stretching his hand up to stroke along the glowing gold light.  The glass was warm beneath his fingers as they tickled down the side to the center piece that was pulsing purple in terror.

The interior guns deployed, twitching every which way but not settling on anything.  Although startled by their sudden appearance, John ignored them as they were of no consequence.  Even if they had been able to focus on a target it would not have mattered as all weapons systems were currently disconnected.

“I need you to shut the alarm off, little one.  I know you’re scared, but I can’t contact your mom until you turn it off.”  John’s tender touch and his calm murmuring had the panicky Rovhu settling quickly.  Moments later the alarm was silenced, the sudden lack of noise after such a loud one left him momentarily deaf.  When he regained his hearing after several long seconds, an annoying ringing sound took place over the quiet.

“-ed side, three of them.” Aeryn’s voice filled the room, Chiana’s hurried shouting and Rygel’s unhelpful blithering echoing in the background.

“Aeryn!” John did not quite shout as he rushed back over to the main console.  Fingers dipping below the gold plate, he pressed a few of the oddly shaped purple lights.  The moment his fingers touched them they turned gold.  He never quite understood how he knew which ones to press, but even with Moya it was as if the ship was gently guiding him.  “What’s going on?”

There was a short pause as the crew on Moya received his message before Aeryn replied.  “We have three ships incoming, there coming up from behind.  Moya has been hit and has taken damage to her left side.  John, she can’t starburst, the damage is two extensive.”

_How could we have not seen?_

Fear paralyzed him, heart pounding in his chest as the _blue_ started to creep into his vision.  Rovhu’s desperate trills pulled him back and the symbols faded into the background, present but not pressing into every space of his mind.  Adrenaline made his hands shake as he gripped the console, knuckles turning white as he willed himself calm. 

Blue eyes flickering about the room, the _blue_ following and hovering as he sought out solutions.  The weapons were offline, all of them, but it mattered not.  Even if they had been online, John would not have let Rovhu use them.  Unlike Talyn, John refused to let Rovhu’s first moments in the universe be painted with death.

A dancing symbol drew his attention to his hands, fingers hovering over what he knew would initiate starburst.  Rovhu could still flee, but Moya…his eyes flickered to the window.  Moya’s golden hull took up most of the view as Rovhu tried to tuck further under the larger ship.  The equations danced in his mind, hovering before his eyes in that sickening luminescent _blue_ as he took in Moya’s size compared to Rovhu.

With Moya’s starburst offline, the only other option was to pull her into Rovhu’s, but the little ship was simply too small to pull off such a feat.  He knew that Rovhu could certainly try, and he did not doubt that he wanted to, but the solution was not wrong.  It floated in front of him, hovering as if in the air, but it was everywhere he looked – even behind the lids of his eyes when he closed them as if to shut it out.

If Rovhu attempted to tug Moya into his starburst, the force would rip him into pieces and he would die.

Shaking his head, he clutched at his hair as if to banish the solution, hoping that the pain would rid him once more of the _blue_.  Instead the symbols came faster.

They could still flee, Moya was big enough cover Rovhu who’s own shields had yet to develop.  The Leviathan was also fast enough to outclass the smaller yet bulkier ships that were baring down upon them.  But with the way her hull was crumbling and the lack of a barrier between them and their enemy could only mean that her shields were not functioning.  She could not take another direct hit.

Retreat was suicide.

“Pilot,” he called desperately, hoping to find another solution as the _blue_ continued to show nothing but death.  “Did they hail us before they shot?”

“No, Commander,” Pilot answered, his tone even but John could easily overhear the worry that he tried to mask.  “Moya has tried hailing them but they are not answering.”

_We attack on cloudy lands and stormy seas, without warning for pirates we be._

“Aeryn, we have space pirates.”

Space pirates came down on unsuspecting ships, damaging just enough so they have to surrender or die, and then boarding them.  After they had boarded, they will steal every valuable item they can find, kill those who resisted, and most likely would rape the women, and men if they are pretty enough.

The pirates had three ships, all about half the size of Moya with twice the artillery as Rovhu.  They also would most likely have several Prowlers or maybe even a marauder on board while Moya had three Prowlers, one which was onboard Rovhu, two transport pods, no shields and no weapons. 

_We are so frelled._

“John,” Aeryn’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.  He could tell by her tone of voice that she had also come up with the same conclusion.  “The way they are attacking means they have no intention of boarding Moya.  They want to disable her, which means they are after the baby.”

“You can’t know that!” John shouted, glaring out of the window as Moya shuddered under another impact.

“John!” Aeryn snapped, voice clicking as she switched to the quicker Sebacean.  “Listen to me! Moya can’t fight back and she can’t flee.  But the pirates know that as a mother, she is still a danger.”

“Aeryn–”   

“No, John! Listen! They have to go through Moya to get Rovhu, and you and I both know that they must never get their hands on him!”

“I’m not leaving you!” John shouted as Moya swayed, hull trembling as another explosion erupted from her side.  “You can’t ask me to do that, I won’t!”

“You know what they will do to him,” Aeryn’s voice was almost soft as the sounds of Chiana yelling and D’Argo’s screaming echoed through the speaker.  “I love you, John,” she whispered in English, the words sounding ominous and final.

 “No, Aeryn!” John gripped the console so hard it reopened the wound on the palm of his hand.  Blood started to trickle down the side and pool onto the floor, but the pain did not register as the implications of what his wife was telling him drilled into his head.  She was telling him to leave, to take the gunship and go.  Everyone on board of Moya would be left to their own fates which would be decided by the pirates. 

_Could I do it, could I just leave?  Leave them, leave her?_

“John, you know it’s the right thing.”

“Dammit!” He cried, fist banging into the console as Rovhu trilled softly to him in fear and confusion.  It was there best bet and everyone knew it.  If they were to leave, starburst out of the quadrant then the pirates would be forced to either follow them or settle for Moya as the bounty.  He trusted Aeryn’s skill and the rest of the crew to turn that to their advantage.  “Pilot,” was that his voice cracking?

Pilot's somber voice filled the control room and tears threatened to spill from John’s eyes.  “Moya wishes Rovhu to be safe; she wants you to take him, John.”  Pilot used his first name; Pilot never used his first name.  A sob tore its way out of his throat and tears spilled onto the console.  “Moya knows you will keep him safe.”

“Always,” John whispered back in promise.  “Two solar days, Aeryn.  That’s all you get.  You be here when we get back, you understand.”

“We’ll be here, no need to worry.  We’ve been through worse,” Aeryn’s voice broke over his unease.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.  Don’t forget,” he wiped his face with his shirt as his fingers hovered over the console.

“I know, two solar days, we _will_ be here.” He heard her sniff and he could see within his mind how she swiped the tears from her face furiously, fixed her hair back into a sever ponytail and straitened her spine as she prepared for battle.

Depressing the communications button, the light switched back to purple as it was deactivated.  “Rovhu, we have to leave now,” he spoke softly as Rovhu chirped in fear.  “I know you want to stay with your mom, but she can’t fight and protect you at the same time.  She’ll be safe, but in order for her to be so, we have to leave.”

The little ship twittered and blinked hysterically, his whole body swaying back and forth as if in denial.  John moved to the center of the room, reaching up to stroke the pulsating light.  Shushing the Leviathan, John tried to calm him.  “You don’t have to worry, you’re mom…she is strong.  The strongest.  And I’ll be with you the whole time.  I made a promise, I’m never leaving you.”

John concentrated as Rovhu’s fear pressed into his mind, and he tried to sort through the desperate chirping in order to understand.  A moment went by as John tried to comprehend the sounds that his translator microbes were attempting to decipher and the impressions that Rovhu himself was pressing into his mind.  It did not take long as over the last few solar days John got more used to the strange form of communication.  He wondered if it was at all similar to the way Pilot and Moya spoke to each other.

“I promise,” John smiled softly as Rovhu finally started to pull away from his mother’s side.  “You and me, we’re gonna be together forever.”


	5. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day four:  
> I told her two solar days. She said she would be there. I guess we are both liars. Sometimes I think I can forget about it, forget what I had seen, and then I remember...and I can't. I don't know what is worse, remembering or thinking for a microt that if given the choice I would forget.

_“Revenge is a poison meant for others that we swallow ourselves.”  -Charlie Crews_

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Solar Day 4

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

John stood in front of the window that dominated command.  His fists were clenched tightly, one hand dripping blood onto the polished black floor, leaking around the cloth he had used to bind it.  Two solar days, he had told her; two solar days she had promised.  They were both liars.

The moment they had dropped out of starburst, John had fallen into a panic attack.  His breathing had been erratic, vision blurring as Rovhu beeped mournfully at him.  It took hours before he was able to calm himself enough to get his head around the problem.  After much deliberation he had a plan, a terrible and dangerous plan, but a plan none the less.

Crichton spent a long while trying to gather his sanity enough to portray his horrendous idea to the young leviathan.  He was unsure whether to be flattered that Rovhu had so much faith in him to immediately agree or disgusted with himself for even thinking that it was a viable option.  In the end he had no other choice.

Rovhu would fight.

Getting his weapons back online took three solar days.  The _blue_ was creeping in in everything he did now, and John was not in the state of mind to stop it.  With no other option, he instead chose to use it.  Following the strange symbols he was able to reroute basic power from unused areas in order to direct it at the cannon instead.  Following the _blue_ he was able to get all external and internal weapons functioning in half the time it would have taken him alone.

His voice trembled as he commanded Rovhu to eliminate any and all who boarded with no hesitation.  His hands trembled as he pulled up the anatomy of different species and he taught the narl their weak points.  Guilt settled deep in his stomach as he prepared the child for war.

In the end, part of him was relieved that all his preparations were for not, the other part was too full of grief to recognize that first part.

They returned to the last known location of Moya four solar days after they had fled.  Rovhu had taken to trilling softly to himself as his pings to his mother went unanswered.  John had not slept in that entire time, eyes red rimmed and puffy as they dropped out of starburst.  The sight that met him took a long time to process.

Moya lay before them in all her glory…and she was dark.

They approached her cautiously, Rovhu’s hails going unanswered as John kept a steady hand on the leviathan’s pulsing light and the other on his pistol.  Rovhu settled himself behind a chunk of debris as his long and short range scanners came back negative for other ships.  John shifted to the window, hand on the warm glass as Rovhu ran another scan to be sure.  Blue eyes took in the space and the debris and he inhaled sharply as realization struck him.

Rovhu chittered curiously at him but John refused to answer as he swiped angry tears from his face.  At first he thought it was some asteroid or rock, but as the debris rotated he realized it was a part of Moya’s hull they were hiding behind.

The leviathan beeped as the scans flashed negative once more and John pulled himself back to the console.  “Take us in slow, keep weapons charged…we don’t know what is awaiting us.” Rovhu twittered at him in confusion and John just shook his head sadly.  “I don’t know why Moya isn’t answering comms, little one.  Let’s just hope that they have been disabled.  Approach at hetch two, give me an orbit of ten thousand motras.”

Rovhu did as asked without question and John waited with bated breath as they came upon Moya’s darkened hull.  No lights showed and John resisted the urge to pace as Rovhu trilled forlornly as he tried to contact his mother.

“Rovhu, open comms and run a scan for damage assessment,” he waited a moment as the little ship complied and he cleared his throat in anticipation as Rovhu beeped at him to let him know the connection had been made.  “Moya this is Crichton, please respond.” They both waited a long microt but no response came.  “Moya? Pilot, this is Crichton, respond…Aeryn!”

Silence met his words as Rovhu orbited to Moya’s hamman side and he had to grip the console to keep his balance as Rovhu shook in fear and grief.  Her entire hamman side was gone, a giant hole exposed to the vacuum of space.

“Moya…” he whispered, eyes wide in fear as Rovhu continued to orbit the still leviathan, exposing even more damage to their scanners.  One of her arms was torn from her body, floating nearly a metra away.  “Ro-” he stopped to clear his throat as tears welled in his eyes.  He scrubbed at his face, willing the _blue_ to leave as the cyphers floated over the damage, the symbol for dead flashing repeatedly in front of him.  He felt as if he could almost reach out and grab the word, crush the _blue_ in his fist as if to undo or hide the truth in front of him.  “Rovhu, prepare the hanger, I’m going over.  I want you to stay in an orbit, keep scanning for life signs.”

Rovhu trilled at him fearfully, the command doors locking as John tried to leave.  “Hey, hey,” he whispered, pausing under the rapidly flashing purple light in order to run his bloodless and cold fingers across the glass.  “I’ll be back, remember.  I promised, you and me, together forever.”

The leviathan chirped unhappily but John heard the door lock disengage and smiled sadly around the room.  “I’ll keep comms open so you can monitor me, okay?” He stroked the glass once more, fingers trailing under the purple light as he walked out of the room and to the hanger where Aeryn’s prowler was parked, 1812 following behind.

He entered the hanger with a heavy heart, pulling the EVA suit down from the hook outside the door.  John sat on a crate of tools that he had brought over the last day they saw Moya and just waited there a moment.  He dug the palm of his hands into his eyes until they hurt, heart pounding in his ears as the suit lay crumpled on the floor and his pistol next to it.  How everything gone to shit so quickly he would never know…but he _was_ going to fix it, even if he had to travel to hell to do it.

_Pull yourself together!_

He stood slowly, shucking off his boots as he pulled the suit up his legs and around his arms.  Once he had it zipped he strapped Winona to his leg and grabbed the helmet.  John gave himself another moment, one full microt in which to freak out internally, but no more than that.  Rovhu needed him, Moya and Aeryn and his son _needed_ him.  So John took a deep breath and he became _Crichton_ , the man who blew up a Gammak Base, raided a Shadow Depository, and single handedly destroyed Peacekeeper Command Carriers, Scarran Dreadnaughts, and an entire planet in order to stop a war.

Crichton entered the prowler and slowly backed it out of the hanger, approaching the large hole on Moya’s hamman side.  The damage was worse up close and Crichton was disgusted and terrified when he was able to pull the prowler in and park it on what he knew used to the tier seven storage room.  His little DRD exited the ship first, a green ray of light shining around the room as Crichton activated the magnetic boots. 

He removed his pistol, holding it steadily as he walked further into the darkened room.  His breath was coming fast, fogging the glass of his helmet as his heart began to beat erratically, fear and adrenalin pumping through him.  “Alright, we’re in,” he whispered quietly into the open comms, keeping Rovhu apprised of the situation.  “We’re on tier seven, I’m going to make my way to Pilot’s den.”

Moving cautiously, he cleared every room they came across with an efficiency that would have made anyone on the military proud.  Crichton did not know if he felt relief that he came across no one as they made their way to the den or grief as each area came up empty.  It took nearly an arn before he came upon the golden doors leading to the pilot, and John approached cautiously, one hand out in front and the other holding his pistol with its light aloft.  His gloved fingers touched the door, black staining the gold from where it had taken heavy fire.

The light to activate the door was dead, busted out as if someone had beaten on it.  Swallowing thickly, he pressed his hand to the door and was disheartened when it swung open easily.  The room had been depressurized like the rest of the ship, open to the vacuum of space.  Hands shaking he entered the room, his single light flashing every which way in the darkness as he shifted slowly across the catwalk.

There were bodies in front of him and he reached down to flip them over.  Two men and one woman, both Sebacean, but not his Sebacean…not Aeryn.  Breathing in relief, he grabbed one of the rifles and pulled the strap on as he shoved an extra pistol into Winona’s empty holster before he pushed the bodies off the catwalk and continued towards the dark console. 

Pilot sat before him, still and unmoving.  His torch lit upon the pilot’s form, taking in the open wounds that had to have been from some kind of plasma weapon.  One of his arms was upon the dead console, his clawed hand over what John knew was the button that would depressurize the whole ship.

Shaking his head sadly, John willed himself not to cry as he reached up and closed Pilot’s orange eyes, fingers hovering on his carapace as he bowed his head in grief.  It was not until 1812 beeped at him that John remembered that he could breathe, releasing a breath he was not aware that he had been holding.

Crichton hesitated as he turned back to the exit.  He knew he would have to search the rest of the ship, but he was fearful of what he would find.  A moment later he had gathered the courage to continue, exiting the den with purposeful strides.

“Pilot is dead, Rovhu.  Moya’s console was dark…I’m gonna make my way to command.” Rovhu twittered and chirruped in sorrow as Crichton continued through the dead leviathan, 1812 following behind silently.

A splash of color in the otherwise dark ship drew his attention and John hesitated before he steeled himself.  Flashing the torch upon the wall he took in the blue that decorated the usually gold metal.  Blood was splattered like an abstract painting, Chiana’s body crumpled and lifeless on the floor below it.  Her face was unrecognizable and he could only assume that she took a plasma blast to her head.

Crichton kneeled before her, touching one of her stiff lifeless hands that had been frozen from the cold of space.  He allowed himself a moment and no more, a moment to gather himself.  He would grieve for her later.  Crichton continued on.

Later, he could not be sure what it was that broke him.  Maybe it had been the complete and utter truth, smeared in front of his face like a child’s finger-paint, maybe it was the disregard for compassion, or maybe it was the silence.  He would never know, but late at night when he tried to sleep…if he tried to sleep, it was a combination of all three in an endless loop.

Command had been soaked in blood, saturated with it as bits and pieces of his _family_ decorated the floor.  Aeryn’s head had been left on the war table, as a statement or trophy, he did not want to think about it.  There was not enough left of Rygel to find, just tiny little chunks of green flesh.  Noranti was missing both arms, but she had gone down fighting at least, not all that blood could have possibly been hers.  And D’Argo, his little one, his child…in the end, he would have wished he had never looked, he would have wished that he had left that bit of knowledge unknown.

He did not remember returning to Rovhu, did not remember piloting the prowler back into the hanger, did not remember removing the weapons or the suit, did not remember crawling into the only finished room and curling up on a bed frame that held no mattress and no sheets.  But he would wake up several solar days later and could recall with absolute clarity the splattered blood upon the golden walls and the bits of his family that decorated Moya’s floor. 

That he had no problem remembering at all.


	6. My Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9:  
> They took everything from me...from us. I'll climb down to the very depths of hell, burn apart my soul, and destroy this entire universe if it means I can get my family back.

_“Take from me my everything, and I’ll show you how far down into hell I am willing to fall.”_

_-Kira M._

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Solar Day 9

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

 

Crichton stared at the walls, blue eyes taking in every available surface, _blue_ filling it.  He had used the last of his white pens in order to fill the walls with the equations and alien cyphers.  Rovhu chittered anxiously but he mostly went ignored and 1812 beeped at him mournfully.  Crichton was lost, his own mind and the strange writing that the young leviathan did not recognize taking all of his attention.

Sometimes the human would sleep…when his body demanded it.  John would collapse randomly in the middle of writing or staring, getting few precious arns of rest before he was back at the walls with his pens.  Days had passed, uncounted and unnoticed to all of the leviathan’s residences as Rovhu continued to orbit his dead mother.  He did not know what to do and was unwilling to leave her.  And Crichton, well he had the wall.

He had lost weight, his unwashed shirt hanging limply from his boney shoulders.  Rovhu worried and 1812 fussed, but it went unseen by the biped.  And then one day, many after they had discovered the deaths of their family, John placed the dried and empty pen on the floor and left the room.

His movements were slow and awkward.  Exhaustion seemed to move with him like an entity, hanging on every step and shift that his body took.  Hunger clawed at his empty stomach, his miniscule rations having expired long ago.  But determination burned in his hollow eyes for the first time in a long while and Rovhu noticed even through his own grief.

The leviathan opened doors ahead of his human so he would not have to waste his depleted energy reaching for the panels.  With shuffling steps it took Crichton a very long while to reach the command, and once he did he immediately made his way to the window bench.  Lowering himself slowly, he sighed as stiff and achy muscles finally got to rest after days of standing and sleeping on a block no better than the floor.

Rovhu chirped curiously, his tone heavy with sadness and Crichton felt guilt settle in his stomach for his lack of empathy to child’s situation as his mind had only been focused on the problem.  “I’m okay, little one,” he sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand through the stubble on his face that was making a valiant effort to become a beard.

The tiny DRD rolled up to him, eyelights flashing as it bumped his bare foot with its painted body.  Crichton smiled softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in fondness before he reached down to run his fingers over the hard shell.  The eyelights blinked excitedly and 1812 twirled in place before settling next to him.

“I have a plan,” he started, clearing his throat as the words stuck in the thickness of it.  Grief, rage, and days of silence had left his throat soar and unused.  “We’re going to get them back.”

_It will work, it has too.  I have nothing left._

Rovhu chirruped in confusion, the main lights flashing with each note as he turned to view the decaying body of his mother.  Crichton saw her massive form fill the view of the window and he turned his back to it.  The sight would only cast doubt upon his plan and he could not afford to have uncertainty in any one aspect of it if they were going to make it work.

“I traveled through time once, changed history…” he began, fingers pressing into his eyes as if he could scrub the image of Moya’s broken husk out of his mind.  “I could do it again, we could-the past, we can change it.”

_Hold your breath, make the climb.  Let’s turn back the hands of time._

Crichton sounded less sure with each word uttered, but Rovhu did not notice.  He was only a child, a narl that desperately wanted his mother back and the person he trusted most in the universe was telling him it was possible. 

Rovhu believed, and Crichton believed with him.

They were going to get them back, all of them.  Moya with her golden and undamaged hull, Pilot with his unbelievable patience, Aeryn with her harsh words and soft smiles, Chiana with her klepto habits, Noranti and her atrocious cooking, Rygel and his ego, D’Argo…his son.

Crichton had a plan, and for the first time in days he felt like himself again.

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Solar Day 11

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

 

It took them two solar days to reach the space station that Chiana and Rygel had docked at to get supplies.  Rovhu danced around the station for nearly a quarter arn as they waited for docking permission.  His curiosity was endearing and John catered to him as the leviathan pulled up schematics and systems while the Commander tried his best to explain their purpose.

Once they received the green light and a stall number it took several longer minutes to convince Rovhu to approach the station and guide him through docking procedures.  The narl questioned everything and entered his berth hesitantly, shying from side to side before settling.  He was grumpy as Crichton prepared to leave.  John laughed as Rovhu twittered mournfully, rocking in his docking bay with unease as cables attached to ports and a ramp latched onto his maintenance door.  He had almost forgotten that the child was ticklish.

Exiting through the maintenance door, John made sure his comms remained open and walked down the ramp into the bazaar.  As he pressed into the crowd, employing his inner Chiana and lifted credits from well off individuals, he was thankful that Rovhu had interior security.  The station was not what one would consider dangerous exactly, but there were plenty of shady areas that catered to a particular clientele with not quite legal tastes.  A leviathan gunship would easily sell on a market such as this.

_Come on Crichton, it’s easy.  Just sidle up and give them a bump.  Apologize politely, distract with your smile while your hand relieves them of their credits.  Even a narl can do it._

He pushed Chiana’s voice from his mind as he weaved through the throngs of multicolored people and tried not to trip on the surprising amount of tentacles.  Crichton quickly gathered the things he needed and had them loaded into the maintenance bay that the leviathan’s purple DRDs were monitoring.  With enough food cubes to last nearly a monen, clothes to replace the ones he had left aboard Moya, bedding and sheets for convenience, and more tools than he was sure he needed John left the space station with a feeling of accomplishment.  He had even acquired a map of the quadrant and still had enough credits to buy supplies to put together a still.

He was unsure how long it would take to accomplish the impossible feat he had put before himself and Rovhu, but no amount of time was going to go to waste.  History would be rewritten, his family would be safe, or he would destroy the entire universe trying.


	7. The Consequences of Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 87:  
> We have finally found what we are looking for, but something seems to be stopping me from getting back to Aeryn and to my son. It does not matter. I will find a way, no matter what. I will do anything and damn the consequences.

_“You don't have to understand 'here' to be 'here.'”_

_-Charlie Crews_

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Solar Day 87

Uncharted Territories

Quadrant D-041/R

The transport class leviathan warship designated Rovhu orbited an uninhibited ice planet in a forgotten sector of space.  The white sun nearly blinding as halos of light pulsed from its surface.  Arms of light ascended from the burning gas giant, the rays ranging in colors from white to red as they spread, opening like wings as the star pulsed like a heartbeat.  The sensation danced upon his hull leaving his synapses tingling, tiny circuits of pleasure racing down into his neural nexus.

He was larger now though his growth was slow.  He had two tiers completed, functional and accessible though Crichton has never ventured to explore much.  The human made use of his maintenance bay off of the hamman side hanger, but other than that he showed no interest outside of the mess hall, command, and his own personal room.

The hallways between each chamber was covered in writing, equations in words that Rovhu did not understand but still catalogued.  Every few solar days he would catch the meaning of one cypher and match it with the corresponding translation, though they became rarer still as the human began to speak less and less.

The deaths of their family had taken a heavy toll on both of them, but Crichton more so.  Rovhu could function without his mother, though he was loath to do so, but Crichton forgot many things, things in which were vital to his survival.  He forgot to eat, forgot to sleep…not much later he forgot to even feel hunger, forgot what tired was as it was his only state of being.

Rovhu on the other hand was lost.  Location wise he knew exactly where he was, but he did not know where to go, how to get there, anything of the sort really.  John tried to guide him but the human was even more lost then he.

The little colored DRD would follow the commander around, playing that same song over and over and occasionally Rovhu would chirp along with him.  But now he just listlessly floated from one solar system to the next as John sought his wormholes.

The leviathan had never seen a wormhole before, the concept behind it baffled him.  Crichton had tried to explain it to him, but the human finally stated that once he saw it the narl would understand.  The one thing Rovhu did understand though was that the wormhole would bring back his mother, so he searched as Crichton taught him how.  His short range scanner was recalibrated, searching for some variable that Crichton could _smell._

To one born in space the concept of scents were beyond his understanding.  He did not have a nose, did not have any olfactory senses in which to smell.  Trying to find something by scent when one did not have the organ was proving must difficult, but they did not lose hope.

On the war table within the side chamber that Crichton used for planning and storing documents laid the maps that the human had been meticulously drawing.  The stack was thick, each quadrant getting its own pile.  As every sketch was complete one of Rovhu’s DRDs scanned them and they were entered into his database to be later compiled into a three dimensional rendition. 

Together they had mapped much of the Uncharted Territories.  When supplies were low Crichton would sell copies at the station they docked at.  As there was little desire for the tedious labor of plotting stars and planets, maps were in great demand with little supply.  They fetched a high enough price to keep them well provided for.

Rovhu sent out another ping to check his long range scanner and continued to drift aimlessly as it came back negative.  If a leviathan could sigh then he would have done so in relief.  John was sleeping for once and Rovhu was unwilling to wake him short of an impending invasion.  The human did not rest enough as it was.

He slept on his back in the now furnished private quarters.  The top sheet covered his lower legs but not much else.  Both of his pulse pistols were holstered on his thighs, Winona on the right and Amanda on the left.  He slept fully dressed and armed as if expecting to enter battle at any moment.

They had docked near a colony on the moon of Lestbar IV not long ago and had a weapons specialist remake the grip on Amanda so it could be easily handled with Crichton’s left hand.  That had cost almost more credits than he was willing to part with.  What bothered him though was not the price but how much time it had taken, time that was wasted from his search for wormholes.

Each solar day seemed to eat away just a little more from the man, turning him into a shell of the person he once was.  As weekens and then monens passed he became less and less hopeful, less and less sure that his plan would work…he just became less and less.

Rovhu’s short range sensors pinged at him and Crichton rushed into command as if drawn by an unseen force.  Trilling curiously, he watched as the human pulled up charts, hands shaking in a combination of fatigue and adrenaline.

“This is it,” he whispered, voice hoarse and frantic.  “This has to be it.  Rovhu, break orbit and proceed four degrees on the vector briko.”

Rovhu did as instructed as 1812 rolled into the room, carapace chipped and worn from age.  Crichton had told him the DRD came from a leviathan named Elack who had been dying from old age at nearly seven hundred cycles old.  The thought of being so old seemed to thrill the narl.  The knowledge they must have gained, the things they must have seen.

Several microns later and the empty space before them ruptured, light fracturing as a hole ripped its way into existence.  Rovhu looked upon his first wormhole and he understood as Crichton had told him, but he also feared.  The thing terrified him like no other, not even a long existence without his mother by his side.  But Crichton did not fear.  When Crichton looked upon the _blue_ hole in space he had a look of glee upon him.  For the first time in a long time he was not less, he was whole.

They stayed there for nearly a weeken.  Crichton filled Rovhu’s walls with even more of the strange marks and Rovhu flirted with the gravitational pull of the wormhole curiously.  He would edge forward, enough to feel the tug and then back off as if daring himself to go too far, to take the plunge. 

Finally, on the sixth solar day since the wormhole appeared, Crichton came into command dressed as if he was about to go to war.  His pistols were strapped to his legs, long coat on under the rifle slung across his back.  Eyes clear and head calm he walked up to the window, stopping just before the circle on the floor.

“Activate manual control,” Rovhu chirped questioningly as the manual flight controls rose from the ground.  “You can’t fly through that thing by yourself so I have to.  Don’t worry,” John murmured in reassurance as Rovhu’s whole body trembled in fear.  “I’ve done this before, you are going to be fine.”

They approached the wormhole and _blue_ filled Crichton’s vision as gravity started to pull them in.  Taking the joystick, John took a deep breath and took the plunge.

Flying through the wormhole was rough.  The turbulence threatened to throw them into the wall of false liquid but Crichton kept them on course.  Seconds later they came out the other side.

The stars that surrounded them were vastly different than the ones they had just left and Rovhu felt a thrill of excitement for the first time.  He did not like his first wormhole experience, but he did not dislike it either.  As John gathered himself, a notebook by the window seat starting to be filled with writing, Rovhu wondered at what all he would see before he died and the thought delighted him.

When John had taken all the notes he could they turned around and went back.  Rovhu was almost as eager to take the dive as he was hesitant.  In the end his curiosity won out and Rovhu turned his sensors on full to gather as much data as possible while he trusted his commander to see him out safely to the other side.

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day 406

Peacekeeper Territories

Location Sector Pylon

Nearly a cycle and a half of searching and finally John had what he needed…who he needed.  He awoke, groggy and disoriented he reached for Winona as his hand fisted into the ground to propel himself up.  He paused there, part way into the motion as surprise and something else seemed to freeze his muscles.

Snow, his hand was fisted around snow.

Releasing the grip on his gun he pushed himself to his feet slowly, muscles aching in a way that left him hesitant to confront the being he knew was waiting.  Blue eyes darted around the tiny little ice cap, _blue_ chasing behind his vision.  And there he was: Einstein.

The _blue_ covered nearly everything, from the curve of the iceberg to the ripples in the water and each snowflakes trajectory.  But Einstein was a hole of nothing.  The _blue_ seemed to bow around him like a force field, as if something physical was keeping the cyphers from touching him.  So John looked at him, eyes unwavering as he took in a sight without _blue_ for the first time in a cycle.  It left him breathless.

“Time…” he spoke, black eyes unblinking as the human approached.

“Hidey ho, neighbor!” John greeted, voice joyful even as his expression was anything but.

“Time…” Einstein replied, voice unchanged and face unmoving.

“Listen, you and me…we’re gonna have a chat.  Because _I_ -I have some words-”

“Time…”

“Would you shut the frell up about time?!” He shouted, waving Winona around as if to threaten the other being with it.  His gaze caught onto his pistol and wondered curiously when he had pulled it out.  Sighing softly, John quickly holstered it before turning back.

“You are not to be _here_ , John Crichton,” Einstein’s voice seemed to echo, coming from every direction even as the man stood before him.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.  I thought that you pulled all this dren outta my head!”

The being before him seemed to frown, lips twitching downwards more than they were as if his facial muscles were unused to being moved in such a way.  John fought not to flinch as the Ancient approached him.  A pale hand reached up, fingers hovering over his head and John clenched his eyes tightly shut, bracing for pain.  Instead he felt a cool pressure above his brow that trailed to his cheek.

“Interesting…” Einstein murmured as Crichton peeked his eyes open, watching the other as the being trailed a bloodless hand down the side of his face.  His fingertips just barely grazed the human’s skin, no pressure behind his butterfly of a touch.  Although it tickled, it had been so long since someone had simply _touched_ him and John fought not to lean into the gesture.  “This knowledge,” the deep voice brought John’s focus back as the other returned his hand to his side.  “You should not have retained it.”

Scoffing, Crichton raised an eyebrow in both curiosity and challengingly.  “And yet here I am.”

“So you are…” Einstein trailed off, gaze shifting to something behind the human.

Crichton turned with him, blue eyes looking out into the darkness.  It took him a moment to see what the other was so fascinated by, but slowly Rovhu’s hull became distinguishable from the rest of the black that enclosed him.  The young leviathan was floating in the water, his dark skin almost blending in perfectly with his surroundings.

Shifting uncomfortably, Crichton cleared his throat to gain the other’s focus.  He did not like Einstein’s attention on his ship.  He almost regretted the action when the emotionless black voids that the being before him called eyes focused once more upon him.

“Why are you here, John Crichton?”

“You were the one who brought me here, why don’t you tell me,” John could have cursed his wayward tongue if he was not so busy trying to gauge how angry the comment had made the other.

“Yes,” it appeared the answer was not at all.  “You were searching for something, a path through the wormholes.”

“I couldn’t find it,” John admitted.  Gaze riveted to the snow that had started to cover his boots.  He had spent over a cycle looking for the wormhole with the correct exit that would take him to his universe before Moya’s destruction.  But every time he came close it was as if someone was slamming a door into his face, denying him access.  Blue eyes darted back up into black, glaring with accusation.

“Yes,” Einstein answered the unasked question.  “I kept you from finding what you seek.  I had hoped you would give up.”

“They’re my family!” Crichton bit out, taking a daring step forward as his hands clenched into fists.  “Do you understand the concept of family? Nothing else in this universe matters but them!”

“This universe?” The alien questioned, head cocking sideways curiously.  “What about all the others…your actions would destroy many universes, not just this one.” Einstein began to pace around him, his gait even and soft as he circled the human.  Crichton noticed that the Ancient did not leave footprints in the snow.  “Would you really be so selfish?”

“I would do anything!” Crichton shouted, his voice ringing into the silence.  It did not echo like the other’s did.

“Anything?” Einstein asked enquiringly and Crichton fought not to turn as the being stopped behind him.  “I could give you what you wanted, a path through a wormhole moments before the deaths of the family you seek.”

“Please,” John whispered desperately, turning to the man and falling to his knees.

“There will be consequences.  You will not like them.”

“Anything!” With that one word, John felt like he had condemned himself, but if it would mean the life of his family then he would honor it.

“You do not understand that of which you ask, but very well.” Einstein bent down, cold fingers gripping his arm as the being hauled him to his feet.  “I will allow you to save your family.  But know this, if you save them, they will be with John Crichton, but you cannot be with them.”

John did not understand the words, mind lost as he tried to muddle through what the ancient was telling him.  “I don’t care,” he finally murmured, hope settling into him as he blinked away tears.  “As long as they live I don’t care.”

Einstein blinked for the very first time and John forgot how unsettling it was to be around him.  “Come then, we have not much time.”

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day 407

Uncharted Territories

Location Moya’s Burial Site

Rovhu exited the wormhole with ease, his flight steady as Crichton had used the ancient knowledge to reengineer the stabilizing device that Neeyala’s crew had, allowing the leviathan to fly in the ‘zone’ as the human called it.  Either way it reduced turbulence and allowed for Rovhu himself to pilot the wormholes when Crichton was unable or unwilling to do so.  There were days when Crichton simply did nothing and both 1812 and the leviathan knew to leave him to his thoughts during such occurrences.

John stood in command as the strange being gazed out the front window.  Rovhu did not know what to make of the creature, and John’s fear of the man made the leviathan wary.  But the being was helping to return their family to them so Rovhu allowed his presence where none other than his commander had been.  Even so, he did not like having someone else aboard.

Crichton hushed him, fingertips grazing the golden light and pulsating purple as he soothed the narl’s worries.  The human had to reach on the very tips of his toes to do so.  Soon he would not be able to reach at all.  The thought both saddened and excited the gunship.  It would not be long before he would be large enough to carry all of Moya’s crew if he needed too.

“There,” Einstein pointed, pale finger upon the glass.  Finally they had gotten it right.  After eleven tries, looping from one exit to the next it appeared that they had exited at the precise location and moment that they were intending.

Crichton joined him at the front window, a sharp inhale prompting Rovhu to run a scan of the area.  They came to a stop at the edge of the system, no planets in site.  At the center was a blue sun, tiny and still growing - much like the leviathan.  And orbiting that sun was Moya, her golden hull undamaged.

Rovhu chirped and tweeted in excitement and Crichton could feel the smile stretching across is his face.  His cheeks hurt from his grin as it had been such a long while since he had used the muscles.  A ping on Rovhu’s radar had the smile sliding off like it had never been there in the first place.

John moved around to the war table where a holographic three dimensional image of the system displayed before them.  Moya and another smaller vessel were orbiting the sun and it took a long while for either of them to realize that the tiny ship was _Rovhu._   He could not have been more than a few arns old, a solar day at most.

Reaching forward as the image zoomed, John could almost touch the holographic image of the ship.  He was tiny, the image fitting in his hand while Moya was nearly the length of his entire arm.  Crichton could not help but gaze at it in amazement.

Rovhu trilled at him inquisitively and John smiled softly, not turning from the image.  “That’s you,” he answered softly, voice filled with emotion and words unsaid.

_That’s you before.  Before you witnessed death, before you learned how to kill, before you became an expert at flying through wormholes…that is you…when you were innocent._

Over a cycle old, John was proud that Rovhu had yet to actually witness combat.  Unlike his long deceased brother, the leviathan gunship had yet to shed blood.  Even so, the controls for his external weapons was still completely under Crichton’s control, not that it bothered Rovhu any, as he had not had the displeasure of ever having to actually use them. 

The internal weaponry on the other hand was Rovhu’s alone.  Not long after they began their hunt for wormholes, Crichton had released the failsafe’s put in place when it came to internal security.  There were long stretches of time where he simply could not be aboard and Rovhu needed a way to defend himself if someone had boarded.

Another ping drew there attention away from the baffling sight of Moya with her newborn son.  The holographic image zoomed out rapidly and three ships were coming upon radar, approaching from the other side of the sun.

“Power up the main cannon,” Crichton whispered, his voice overriding the safeguards.  “Take us around Moya’s blind spot, stealth mode, come up behind them.” He hesitated in giving his last order as Rovhu shut down all unnecessary lighting and systems, cloaking his signature to appear as debris.  After a long moment though Crichton finally spoke.  “Shoot to kill, no hostages.”

Rovhu trilled in confirmation, the ascendency cannon deploying and rail guns dropping.  Rovhu was not even two cycles old, and today he would bloody himself in battle for the first time.  Crichton prayed it would be the last as well, but he knew his luck would never hold out.

The raiders did not even see them coming.  Hidden behind the star, Moya and her crew detected nothing as the ascendency cannon fired, vaporizing one ship into dust as the rail guns activated, covering them while the cannon recharged.  Within less than a micron the battle was over and all that was left was debris too small to be recognized as pieces of a ship.  Rovhu’s shields had protected him from any damage, although he would have been fine without it.  The second ship had been dispatched before it could even fully turn to lock on target, the third barely got a couple of shots off that would have done no more than graze his hull.

Sighing in relief, they retreated back to the edge of the system as Moya crested around the curve of the sun, her newborn child tucked beneath her and it was in that moment he understood what the ancient had spoken to him.  John Crichton would be with Aeryn and their child, but _he_ would not…because now (again) there were two John Crichtons.

Cursing, John slammed his hand onto the console and both 1812 and Rovhu beeped in concern, the action startling the narl enough to deploy interior weapons.  The guns whirred as they flitted about the room, settling on nothing.  After a moment they retracted and Rovhu trilled questioningly at his human.  Crichton just hung his head.

“You knew,” he accused, blue eyes gazing through the fringe of his just slightly to long hair at the being who stood so calm and serene at the window.  “You knew and didn’t say!”

“I did say,” was his only reply.

“There can’t be two John Crichtons,” he whispered as Rovhu continued to trill softly at him.  “Aeryn Sun already has her Crichton, Moya already has her son…”

“Yes.”

Blinking back the tears, John scrubbed a hand down his face.  “There were two of me before-”

“You were twinned - copied.  This is not similar.  You are the same,” Einstein began, voice neither harsh nor compassionate.  “This universe cannot handle a paradox.”

“Where does that leave us?” John whispered as he tried and failed to keep the brokenness out of his tone.  He was just so tired of always fighting, being the last man out…the last man standing.

Einstein finally turned to him, eyes black and gaze a void, an abyss empty of all emotion.  “If either of you were to come into contact with your counterparts, if they were to ever learn of your existence, this universe would unravel.”

John barked in laughter, the harsh sound devoid of any amusement filling the room as he pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes until his vision turned white.  His breath came in short and quick, the lack of oxygen making him light headed.  After a moment he calmed, opening his eyes revealed that he had fallen with his back against the console. 

Einstein looked upon him as if he were a bug that had done something slightly curious.  They could not stay here…in this reality.  If they interacted with anyone and somehow word got back to this _Crichton_ , the one that had yet to turn a narl into a weapon (had yet to lose his family), then that could mean the end of everything that they had just fought so hard for.

“Where are we supposed to go?”

Einstein blinked slowly, his upper eyelid pulling away revealing a nictitating membrane that pulled back to the inner corner of the eye.  “Time…”

John sighed, but eventually he answered.  “Heals all wounds.”

“Time…”

“Management,” he tried again, hoping to get the right answer.

“Time…”

“Ends, begins, is relative-”

“Time…”

“Unending.” Einstein blinked again and John knew he was right.

“Yes,” the ancient replied slowly, turning back to the view out of the window.  “I will close all the wormholes in this universe.  This John Crichton will no longer retain the memory of them.”

His hands were sweating when he gripped the edge of the console, using it to pull himself up.  Wiping them on the leather of his pants, he approached hesitantly.  “And what happens to us?”

“Consequences,” Einstein replied.

“You mean-” he cut himself off, swallowing around the thick lump in his throat.  “What?  Are you going to kill us?” Rovhu twittered in distress but did not deploy his interior guns again.

“No,” an almost frown appeared upon is inhumanly still face.

“Then what…” John stopped, confused as his vision darted between the obtuse being and Moya.  Aeryn and his son were right there, and yet they never felt so far.  It was then that it came to him, the ancient had stated that this universe’s John Crichton would retain no wormhole knowledge, but that meant nothing for him personally.  “You intend for us to use the wormholes.”

“Yes.”

“And go where?!” He shouted, fists tightly clenched.  Crichton was beginning to feel light headed and he sat heavily upon the bench before he collapsed.

“Consequences, John Crichton.  You said _anything_.” Einstein looked upon him as if puzzled by his outburst.  “You and this ship will never return to this universe.”

John wanted to scream, he wanted to grab the ancient fekkek by his fragile neck and squeeze until he crushed it, mostly he just wanted Aeryn to hold him and tell him it would be okay and that they would figure something out.  “How can you possibly close all of the wormholes in this universe?” John questioned instead.

“My last task,” Einstein began, turning his gaze back to the window.  Crichton felt a weight lift from him now that he was no longer under the ancient being’s scrutiny.  “The rest of my kind have settled somewhere far from here.  I have been given the task to no longer protect the wormholes, I am to close them.”

“How long will it take you?” John wondered how much time he had left to just exist in the universe that he was born in.

“The rest of my lifetime, many of yours,” the ancient replied before he turned and regarded the human once more.  “Or it should have.  I cannot risk that you return here, I will not allow the destruction of a single universe.  I will close all of the ones in this universe the moment you leave.”

“Can you really do that?” Crichton gazed up at him with both wonder and fear.

“Yes, although the action will kill me.”

John blinked in surprise.  “Then why-”

“I will not risk the destruction of a-”

“-single universe, yeah,” John interrupted, biting his lip as he turned away in anger and frustration.  “How are you supposed to close the rest of wormholes in the other universes if you are dead?”

“I will not, you will do so for me.”

He stood suddenly, recoiling away as if struck.  “What, excuse me? Like hell I will!”

Einstein approached him slowly and Crichton retreated until his back hit the console.  The other being continued to approach until he was just millimeters from touching him, too far into Crichton’s personal space to be anywhere near comfortable.

“Consequences, you will do as must,” his tone, though flat and without any sort of emotion or inflection broke no argument.

“But-” John started, hands pressed onto the top of the console behind him as if he was trying to sink into the very metal to get away.  He wondered at Rovhu’s lack of reaction, but a glance behind him answered that question quickly.  The purple strands of light with the gold that filled the room were unmoving - frozen as time had stopped for all but the two.

“You will do as must,” the ancient reiterated.

“You said,” Crichton cleared his throat as the first words were all but squeaked out.  “You said it would take all of your life time…many of mine, remember.  I won’t live that long, frell, not even Rovhu will live that long.”

Another almost frown from the ancient had Crichton wondering if he even had muscles under the skin.  “I am aware, but that is easily fixed.”

“Fixed…” Crichton murmured, gaze returning to the being.  Too late he noticed the hand approaching his face and he would have flinched back if there was anywhere to flinch too.  But none of that mattered as the next moment all Crichton knew was pain as stars shown in his _blue_ eyes.


	8. Almost Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1289: Same dren, different planet. This new universe is so different, and yet some things stay the same. The human race has spread out among the stars, like cockroaches. I wonder what that makes me.

_“Evil will always triumph over good because good is dumb.”_

_-Dark Helmet_

0~Page_Break~0

 

Solar Day 1289

Aguerra Prime

Aguerra System

The day had started off as any other normal solar day did.  John awoke on the bio-mechanoid and proceeded to spend the next half arn hunting down his hygienic supplies.  Rovhu had taken to ordering his little purple DRDs to hide them and John had never told him to stop even though it was an inconvenience.  It kept the narl amused and the human was happy for any distraction, no matter how annoying.

Two cycles had already passed since they came to this universe.  Two cycles of tracking down wormholes, two cycles of collapsing them, two cycles of no Moya and no Aeryn.  Two cycles seemed like such a long time.

The planet he was on was colorful.  The sand beneath his feet an auburn red, the sky an almost sea foam green.  Decorative cloth hung from wires, shading the market in bright blues, greens, pinks, and yellows. 

The people were even more colorful than their planet.  They dressed in bright finery, material like silk dyed in every pigment imaginable.  Some even painted their skin with it, intricate patterns and swirls that chipped away as it dried.

_I could live in a place like this, Chiana would have loved it here._

He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts.  They did him no good now.  His family was gone, truly in the sense that they were never to see each other again.  Crichton doubted that their afterlives would intersect if they were separated by realities.  And on some days that were darker than others, Crichton wondered if there even was an afterlife at all.  He brushed a hand through his brown hair and sighed.

_Not gray, there is no gray…why is there no gray?_

Crichton was nearly forty, just a cycle and two monens shy.  And yet he looked exactly the same as the day he had last seen the ancient fekkik that he had called Einstein.  Many things had changed since that day, some better than others.

The _blue_ was no longer out of control, scorching along his synapses as they flooded his vision.  They came when called, occasionally when not, but they were always present in his dreams.  Even when he dreamt of Aeryn, the _blue_ was in her smile and the corner of her eyes.  He _hated_ that it poisoned his memory of her as he could no longer envision her without the _blue_.

It was always there.

Rovhu continued to grow, although not in a way that could have been predicted.  At nearly four cycles old he was getting large, much too big for one person.  Crichton sometimes felt like the father that bought a house for five kids that all grew up and went to college leaving him alone in this place too big for him.

The leviathan had five tiers that were accessible, another two that were not.  John’s favorite room had just been completed not even a monen ago: the observatory.  It sat right in front of the ascendency canon, the glass dome giving him a near full view except for the door and small passageway beyond.

Crichton spent arns in the observatory, lying on his back as he charted stars into his notebooks.  In the near four cycles that they had been hunting wormholes they had closed a total of three.  It was a tedious task, finding the wormholes, and even more tedious in collapsing them. 

With so much free time while they plotted courses and mapped systems, John Crichton decided to spend his days stargazing.  It was because of this habit that he noticed the unexpected change in the leviathan.  Rovhu had plates growing down his sides. 

At each ridge along the spine there were segmented plating that encircled his whole body.  The most startling fact was they shifted.  Like an articulated cord, Rovhu could now move the front of his body independent from the back.  It made wormhole travel a lot easier and Rovhu no longer needed the device that Crichton had designed to stabilize their flight. 

At nearly four cycles old he was just over 500 motras long, over a third of Moya’s length.  John believed that in less than twenty cycles the narl would be larger than his mother…and still growing.  Leviathans, like some reptiles from Earth, had indeterminate growth.  Those with indeterminate growth never stopped developing, although once they reached maturity their growth slowed significantly.

_Baby boy is gonna get big._

Pressing a hand to his temple, he forced his way past a rather rude native and made his way down a bright and busy side alley.  At the end was the weapons shop he had been looking for.  Browsing the wares, fingers ghosting of the hilts of small knives, Crichton lamented the loss of the hunting knife Aeryn had given him as a gift.  He had been forced to sell it when they first came to this reality.

With limited provisions, Rovhu had orbited a nearby moon while Crichton docked the prowler on a commercial planet.  It was there that they ran into their first few problems of many.  The first problem, the translator microbes.  This universe did not seem to have any.

Everyone seemed to speak several common tongues and though Crichton could understand them, they had difficulty understanding him.  It sounded almost like English, but Crichton got the impression that it was as if they were speaking common English and he was speaking old English.  It took a lot of getting used to, but Crichton learned.

The next problem was money.  They used similar terms like units and credits, but they looked nothing like what Crichton had in his pockets.  So in order to get enough credits to resupply he was forced to sell his prized hunting knife.  Even two cycles later he still regretted that decision, but there simply had been no other option, other than selling one of Rovhu’s DRDs which Crichton was extremely hesitant to do so.  He was unsure what kind of life forms this universe had and he did not want to draw attention to himself if he ended up parading a new one around.

The knife he settled on was beautifully crafted, the handle wrapped in soft leather while the blade curved gently, deep gouges near the hilt on the back side that were sharpened to be used as a small saw.  As he waited to pay, the guns lining the far wall caught his attention.  They were the projectile kind, nowhere near the advanced technology of his pulse pistols.

One hand dropped to stroke along the grip of Winona as he toyed with the thought of buying a new gun.  This universe had yet to have anything equivalent of chakan oil so his guns had limited supply.  Thankfully he had had no call to use them since he arrived except for that one misunderstanding on Regia Sekc.

When he finally met the merchant, Crichton only paid for the knife.  Though foolish, he still had hope to find something in the produce section similar enough to tannot root to make his own chakan oil.  Thankfully he remembered the process from the one time that Jool had showed him when a long series of misunderstandings had forced them to make their own in order to survive.

_Life seemed to revolve around a long line of misunderstandings._

Tucking the sheathed blade into his boot, he made his way back towards the center of the market.  There was a rather unattractive and heavily scarred woman selling tools just off of the main street and Crichton found himself needing a screwdriver, or something that resembled a screwdriver enough to get the job done.

Rovhu’s shields were down for the third time this monen.  He had tried debugging the system and having the DRDs repair it, but the power output to consumption was just so far off that Crichton needed to see for himself what the frell was going on with the leviathan’s circuits.  Unfortunately, the access panel was located under a small hatch in command, beneath the treblin side consoles.  It was because of this that he needed the tool as the hatch required a screwdriver or something similar in order to open it.

As he was haggling the price with the unattractive woman, movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.  Normally, in such a busy area as the one he was in, he would have paid no attention but something in him was screaming danger.  In the end the lizard part of his brain won out, as it always did, and Crichton turned.

Four men were slowly making their way their way through the crowd, matching green uniforms and rifles slung across their backs.  Settling on a price fifteen creds higher than he would have liked, the commander grabbed his purchase, an interchangeable screwdriver, and made a hasty retreat.  It could have just been his paranoia but whenever authority and he tangled it never ended well.

His instincts were screaming at him to run, get back to Rovhu who was docked on the other side of the large market as quickly as possible and get off this rock.  However two things stopped him from doing this.  The first was that the men were coming from the direction that Rovhu was docked and the second was that two more had just joined them, cutting off his escape.

John’s hand twitched towards Winona as the others came up from behind and surrounded him, but he restrained himself and resisted starting a firefight in the middle of the crowded market without first finding out what the men wanted with him.  The leader of the group, a gruff man with a grey beard and large scar bisecting one eye making it milky white, stepped in front of Crichton and casually laid his hand upon his firearm as if it was an afterthought and not the threat that they all knew it to really be.

“Papers,” his one word etched confusion on John’s face.  When Crichton did not respond the officer elaborated.  “Your ident papers.  We are cracking down on illegals and you failed to check in when you docked.”

John swore loudly in sebacean as he finally realized what they wanted.  He did not have any identification papers of any sort, and if he failed to produce any he doubted he would be seeing Rovhu any time soon.  The group around him shifted as the series of clicks and hard consonants of the alien language rolled off of his tongue.

“Right, sorry,” John smiled to put the men surrounding him at ease.  “This is my first time traveling, let me just get them.”

As he reached inside his long coat the others relaxed slightly and that was the opportunity he was waiting for.  Snapping his arm back, his elbow connected painfully with someone’s face and John was fairly certain he felt the crunch of the man’s nose breaking.  Before the others could fully react, Crichton had grabbed another’s arm and slammed him into the man across from him, creating a hole in their group and Crichton made a break for it.

_Another universe, another planet…and yet the same old dren._

Rushing through the crowd, Crichton weaved expertly between bodies and wares making his way to the east docks.  Unfortunately Rovhu was parked on the west docks, but there simply was no way to get to him without meeting further opposition.  Ducking around a vendor and darting through a side alley, Crichton took the moment to comm Rovhu as he tried to lose his pursuers.

“Rovhu, I’m in a little bit of a jam!” The leviathan’s worried trills flowed through his open comm unit, drawing the attention of those nearby.  Whispering frantically, Crichton tried to reassure the gunship that an armed rescue was the last thing he needed.  “Detach and follow my signal.  I’m gonna board another ship.  We’ll rendezvous at the destination.”

Cutting the comms off so as not to draw even more stares, Crichton glanced around to make sure he lost the men chasing him and made his way down the east dock.  Scanning quickly, he searched for a steady but not new vessel, one that was leaving within the quarter arn.  If the ship was too new than they would have security protocols set in place that could work against him.

Just as he was about to give up and try to make it back to the west docks a ship caught his eye.  It took only seconds to purchase a ticket and he darted up the ramp and into the passenger hold just as the doors closed behind him.  People were climbing into upright tubes as crew members assisted them.  Once settled, cyro-sleep was activated and the person was placed into a suspended coma.

Crichton had never experienced cyro before and he was hesitant to do so now, but it was far too late to do anything else but climb into his own chamber.  Blue eyes glanced around as a man called Owens, a navigational officer, helped him get settled.  Everyone looked so normal, so calm and sure…so human.

It was different, this universe.  Smaller somehow, or so Crichton felt.  He had yet to come across any other species then human.  At first he had thought that they were sebacean, so used to being the only human, but he learned quickly that that was not the case.  It was unsettling.  Humans were everywhere, colonizing any planet they could, terraforming any they couldn’t.

_They’re like cockroaches, the plague of the universe._

Sometimes, when he allowed himself to think about it, it bothered him that he now thought of the human species as _they_ and not _we_.  Because it simply was no longer _we_.  Crichton had no idea what he was anymore, and as his chamber door slid closed, he allowed himself to relax back into the cushion as he pushed away the thought. 

The cyro-drug flooded his system and Crichton blinked sluggishly at the locker at the very back.  His eyes were beginning to become fuzzy, but he could still make out the words upon the glass. 

_Lockout protocol.  No early release._

He found it curious to find a man chained inside, but he could think upon it no more as the drugs started to take hold.  John blinked once more as the Hunter-Gratzner began to take off and as he closed his eyes one last time he felt his nictitating membrane slide out and into place.


End file.
